Dagorwen
by stuffsuchasdreamsaremadeon
Summary: The Fellowship is broken and Amera must forge her own path as the threat of Isengard looms ever greater. But, as her hope and courage are tested by new challenges, will she have the strength to fight on against the darkness?  Sequel to Aeliniel
1. Dagorwen

**Author's Note: For those who you checking this story out, this is the sequel to **_**Aeliniel**_ **and I not only highly encourage you to go read it, but I recommend it because you're not really going to understand what's going on if you don't! For those who are here because of **_**Aeliniel**_**, I am very excited to continue Amera's story and hope you enjoy it as much as my first story! (Also, if Nienna does not ring a bell, a quick google search will do the trick.)**

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Pippin did his best to cushion his fall with his bound hands, but nonetheless winced as his aching body collided with the rocky earth. He heard Merry groan from beside him and was comforted in this as he shifted onto his side, for any sort of noise from his injured friend meant that he as at least well enough to know what was going on around him. His eyes swept briefly to the gash that cut down Merry's forehead and he knew despite his nearly convincing attempts, Merry was in great pain and very weak. They were both weak from the hours spent on the rough backs of the orcs, prodded and poked by the crude edges of their fearsome armor as they were roughly tossed from carrier to carrier. He had lost all sense of time, closing his eyes and imagining he was breathing the sweet, smoky air of the Green Dragon back home instead of the sweaty musk that clung to his captors. He thought of Frodo and what he so desperately hoped had been his escape, of Strider and the others, and finally, of Amera and Boromir.

He could not erase them from his mind's eye, despite his best attempts. Even now, he felt the hot sting of tears as the brutal crack of Amera's head replayed again and again, her pale hand outstretched as her dark hair had flowed over her shoulders as she lay still. Worse yet, he closed his eyes and felt a tear slide down his dirtied cheek, was the way Boromir had cried out to her, his eyes wide as he had known he could do nothing but watch her fall. And Boromir himself, he trembled slightly as the steady flow of tears increased despite his attempt to hide his emotion for Merry's sake, how slow the rise and fall of his broad chest had become, how he had stared at the arrows plunged deep within his chest and had realized, no doubt, that he was going to die.

"It'll be alright, Pip." He looked over to Merry, who gave him a faint, tired smile.

Pippin swallowed hard and nodded, being as strong as he could for his friend.

Merry was quiet for a second, shifting his gaze to look around at the grunting orcs that surrounded them, panting and growling amongst themselves in their thick tongue. After a moment, he turned back and attempted his smile once more, "At least Frodo's safe, remember that if nothing else, Pip."

Pippin shuddered inwardly as he imagined his cousin as a fellow captive and was comforted by Merry's reminder. No matter what happened, Frodo was safe. His spirits were raised slightly by this and he responded with a little grin of his own, whispering, "You know what I could use right now, Merry?"

Merry slowly raised a brow, giving Pippin an odd look as he slowly shook his head. Pippin grinned at this this and whispered with a quick wink, "I'd kill for some a pint."

Merry's smile widened exponentially as he rolled his eyes, unable to resist a quick laughter as he retorted, "You're an idiot, Pip."

However, their brief moment of happiness was shattered as Merry received a sudden, fierce kick to the back from on the orcs. The beast sneered, his bloodshot eyes hazy in the moonlight as he growled, "That's enough of that, rats." He lowered his brutish head, spittle flying from his thick lips as he snarled, "If I catch you yappin' away one more time, I'll send Shakrat over ere' and you," He grabbed Pippin's face and pulled it close, his breath hot as he emphasized each word, "_Don't want that._"

Pippin swallowed hard and nodded furiously before the orc released him with a snort of disgust and wandered away to rejoin his companions, who had taken no notice of the brief interaction. He glanced towards Merry who flashed him a brief smile, but raised his bound hands to his lips and shook his head. Contented by this, well, as content as one could be when held captive by a marauding band of terrifying creatures, he rolled onto his side and buried his head into the bristly grass as he dreamt of the Shire, slowly but finally drifting asleep.

However, his rest was short-lived as he found himself awakened by the sudden thumping of the ground beneath him as iron-clad feet ravaged the soft earth. Blinking in confusion, he lifted his head and watched as another group of Uruk-hai appeared, their thick bodies glistening with sweat beneath the moonlight as they panted and came to a rest. The leader of that company that had taken Merry threw down the sword he had been sharpening as walked over to greet the newcomers and Pippin instantly lowered his head as he passed, pretending to be asleep once more.

It was difficult to see what was going on, for he did not wish to risk moving and being discovered to be awake, so he subtlety shifted his body as best he could to get a clear view of the scene. Ugluk, for so the other orcs called him, approached the panting orcs with a low growl, his thick braids of hair swinging as he swung his arm in anger. "What took you maggots so long?" He snarled, looking over the small group with contempt.

One of the exhausted Uruk-hai looked up, removed his helm as he desperately tried to explain, his voice stammering between heaving gasps. "We couldn't go fast, not with the condition that one's in." He jerked a finger behind him and Pippin shifted, his eyes widening in horror as he caught a brief glimpse of a large object dropping roughly onto ground, released from the arms of an orc. No matter how he moved, he could not see how big it had been, his mind whirling as he prayed Frodo was not the captive.

He cursed under his breath with frustration as Ugluk moved to look over the captive and he was unable to see anything but the figures of the orcs before him. After a pause, Ugluk roared, spit flying from his lips as he growled, "Who did this? Sharkey'll ave' our skins for this!"

"It ain't our fault!" Another piped up, his voice revealing frustration, "Lurtz lost control and forgot orders!"

Ugluk spat, cursing loudly in that dark, thick tongue and Pippin was grateful he was unable to understand the meaning beneath the harsh vocals and guttural grunts. "Put it with the others!" He finally roared, turning swiftly as he strode to rejoin his own company, "And if one of you lays a hand on-"

One of the exhausted orcs sneered at this and Pippin was unable to make out the beginning of his statement as he interrupted Ugluk, only able to make out, "-As good as dead, anyway!"

Ugluk looked over his shoulders, baring his fangs as he snarled, "You'd best be hopin' that doesn't happen or all of you lot will be answerin' to the wizard yourselves." The orc swallowed hard at this and grew silent. Pippin quickly lowered his head as he passed, shutting his eyes tightly as his boots crushed the thin blades of grass but a few inches from his own face mercilessly. He heard as the new company of uruks grunted and growled amongst themselves in low voices, but resisted a sudden flinch, for he heard a small thud where Ugluk had just passed and felt something brush his arm.

Pippin waited a moment, biting his lip in fear, and very tentatively opened one eye to examine what had just been dropped beside him. He blinked, trembling as he kicked Merry with a sudden twitch of his foot to wake, swallowing hard as he stared the figure beside him, at the hand that lay outstretched before him, pale beneath the dried blood that caked delicate fingers.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

_She was drowning, flailing madly in the darkness with aching limbs as the icy chill encircled her body and dulled her senses. She was unable to tell which direction was up, or which was down, and she tried to cry out but water poured into her throat, choking her as she struggled blindly. Every part of her body screamed in agony, her scars seemingly lit aflame as her head pounded with intensity to steal what little breath remained in her lungs. Slowly descending as the weight of the water took her and swirled her dark hair around her, she wept as the images of those lost to her flooded her mind. _

_ The proud tilt of Earnur's jaw as he had turned from her, never to be seen again. The sobs of the dying at Fornost who she could not save, their blood staining her boots as she had fought on. Gandalf's fingers slowly slipping against the stone before he had fallen into the darkness of Khazad-dum. The aged faces of kings, soon to die, that had visited in their youth, so very noble and now so feeble. _

_ And Boromir, his shining green eyes glazed with pain as he had cried out to her, his proud chest rising and falling slowly with the weight of two arrows as he had fallen. The chest her head had rested against in Lorien and had lulled her to sleep with its steady heartbeat, that had pressed against her own as their burdens were eased, if only briefly, as their lips had met._

_ It was with these thoughts that the spirit of the Aeliniel grew so heavy with despair, her very form weighed down by countless burdens, that she was no longer able to fight. This was to be her end and she embraced it in her weariness, for she could not go on any longer. Her pale eyes closed in peace as her hands gently rose above her head and slivers of dark curls slipped between her fingers as her body was suddenly limp. She gave into the water that swirled around her, allowing herself to be slowly pulled down deeper and deeper into the darkness. _

_ "_Aeliniel."

_A whisper rippled through the water, but she did not stir. There was silence once more as she sank, yet after a moment the soft, feminine voice reached out yet again to her, so profoundly gentle in this world of pain and suffering that it stirred her weary soul. "_Aeliniel."

_Her eyelids flickered and her soft mouth opened slightly, but the burden was yet too great._

"Do not give up, Aeliniel, not yet."

_A faint weeping reached her, echoing through the lightless waters as she stirred ever so slightly. Mustering what energy she had left, the Aeliniel whispered weakly, "_I cannot endure this."

_The voice grew in strength and comfort now, no longer whispering as it called out to her. _"It is not yet your time."

"But I am so very weary…"

"You can do this, child, for I believe in you."

_The voice exuded confidence, a promise that stirred up hope in her. Slowly, but surely she opened her eyes, exhausted by the effort and whispered in return, _"Who are you?"

_She heard soft laughter, like the tinkling of chimes by morning breeze, as it whispered to her, "_I created you." _The Aeliniel shifted in confusion, her eyes opening as she searched through the darkness for the source, quietly responding, _"You are Evendim?"

_She gasped once more as suddenly a light appeared above her and shone down through the dark waters, illuminating her pale, bare form. The glowing beams themselves, first hazy through the water, twisted with a life of their own and swirled around her, tracing along her ankles and fingers like delicate ribbons that glittered bright with the warmth of the noonday sun as they graced her bruised skin. The voice called out, louder than ever before as it questioned, and the swirls of pure light blinding in their intensity as they gathered speed, "_And what caused those waters to ripple? What stirred the cool blue of Evendim to give life? From where came the hope and light that fills your spirit and shines through you, child?"

_Amera trembled, terrified by the questions she could not answer, of the assumptions of her creation that now lay shattered around her like shards of broken glass and the power of the creature that spoke to her through the shadowed waters. There was a long pause and the tendrils of light slowed to wrap around her like a blanket, gently warming her as she closed her eyes in relief from the icy chill. The voice was softer now as it had realized its intensity and grew closer, seeming to whisper into her ear. It was a sweet and sad, as if the woman it had belonged to had seen so very much, yet still held hope. _"I wept for Gondor as it was torn asunder, for the lust for power and greed of men moved them to abandon their home and the tombs of their forefathers, for the history left behind in marble monuments and high, shining walls." _The voice briefly paused, choked with emotion, and Amera felt her heart weak with pity as it continued through gentle weeping_, "I wept for the city of Annuminas, once a beacon for all Men, to be so forsaken."

_A single word rippled through the water, a name that she recognized, deep within her soul. _Nienna.

_Amera's eyes widened as the light that shone down upon her, once so very far away, as if she had been looking upwards from bottom of a deep well, suddenly grow closer and closer. She then realized she was moving, propelled towards the surface by the soft rays of light that now hung from her like a robe, swirling around her slender ankles and through her hair like ribbons touched by a gentle breeze. The voice continued and Amera imagined a small smile upon the face of its source as it rippled to her, _"I give hope unto those that cry out for it, my beautiful Aeliniel, and through you this is fulfilled."

_Amera lowered her head in shame, tears appearing in her eyes as she trembled, struggling to contain her grief as the water swirled around her as she ascended slowly to its surface. Her voice was but a whisper, choked with emotion, "_Then I have failed you, my lady." _She paused briefly, closing her eyes as tears streaked down her bruised and bloodied face, _"Earnur fell and so the line of kings was ended. Gandalf fell and such precious light was lost. And-," _Her voice cracked as she sobbed_, "Boromir is dead."

_The voice was quiet for a moment as Amera wept, her frail shoulders shaking as the weight of the Aeliniel bore down upon her. Slowly, the tendrils of light reached up to caress her face, warming her as they brushed away tears while the voice murmured gently, something like laughter in its words, "_Shhh, love, for already have I intervened on your behalf." _Amera opened her mouth to inquire further, but the voice continued and its quiet laughter was so immensely beautiful she felt tears spring once more into her eyes as it continued, "_You have done so very, very well, Aeliniel, all these years. You have fought so valiantly despite that which has been placed upon you and for that, I am proud of you."

_The voice paused and Amera looked upwards once more, towards the light that grew closer and closer, shining down upon her and battling the shadows that lingered in the dark waters around her. It continued once more, but Amera heard soft regret and the presence of tears as it whispered, "_I had not known what all this would been asked of you, child….I could never have foreseen where your path might take you. And, while I have shed many tears for the struggles set before you over these many years, my heart is yet glad for all that you have become, for your choice to stand alongside these Free Peoples and fight though such was not asked of you."

_Amera was silent as she reached the surface and the shining ribbons slowly fell away from her, dissolving into the pure light that rippled above her head, just a movement away. She extended a hand towards where light and water met, but paused for a moment and whispered, _"Do you truly believe I can do this, my lady?"

_The voice laughed once more and swirled around her, warming her weary soul with its comfort and confidence. _"With all my heart. Go now, my beautiful Aeliniel, and remember, the name Dagorwen was bestowed upon you for a reason. Within you lies the strength to banish the great darkness that now threatens all of Middle-earth."

_Amera looked up at the radiant beams that shimmered down upon her and whispered to herself as she reached her hand above the water and into the air, her voice filled with quiet determination and promise as her eyes closed as she left the shadows behind._

Dagorwen.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Pippin held his breath as Amera's eyelids slowly trembled, gently cradling her head as best he could in his bound arms. Merry was breathless beside him, his eyes wide as they waited for some sign of movement from their friend. Finally, Pippin saw the pale, flickering blue of her eyes as her long lashes parted. He sobbed briefly with relief, tears streaming down his face as he looked down upon her.

She looked so very broken, for one eye was black and nearly swollen shut as she gazed up at him. Her cut, bloodied lips moved slowly to reveal a faint, tired smile and he awkwardly brushed away a stray tear that fell upon her bruised cheek. He glanced briefly to her the side of her head and inwardly cringed with pain as he saw the raw gash that rested upon her scalp, the dark hair surrounding it matted with dried blood. Around her throat were the images of the thick fingers that had choked her, contrasting vividly against her pale skin.

Still, she lived and for that he rejoiced. Amera blinked once, slowly, and lifted a trembling, bloody finger against his cheek as she stroked it. Her voice cracked slightly as she whispered, the tired smile playing around her lips, "I thought I had lost you."

Pippin smiled at his battered friend, though his heart was heavy as he realized how very weak she was. As he took notice of the crude bandage wrapped around her shoulder where the arrow had been withdrawn and the arching plane of her shoulder blades through her hauberk as he held her, he knew she had been lucky just to survive the rough travel. From beside him, Merry spoke up, his voice bright as he no doubt tried to comfort her and whispered, "Your lessons saved my life, Amera. If you hadn't have taught me how to parry, I'd have been done for."

She laughed softly at this for a moment, but Pippin's eyes widened with fright as her back suddenly arched as she began to cough, her frail body shaking with its intensity as she gasped in pain. He quickly laid her back down as gently as he could, hurrying to appear asleep once more as Ugluk approached. Holding his breath, he was still as the massive uruk leered over him and growled to Amera, "Keep it down or else."

Pippin heard her swallow hard and assumed she had nodded, for the sounds of his brutish footsteps grew quieter as he walked away. He waited for a few more moments, then opened his eyes and moved to whisper to her. However, even in that brief amount of time, her eyes had already closed and he watched her chest rise and fall as she slept. Relieved by this, he carefully brushed a stray lock of hair away from her eyes and looked over her, his eyes tracing the dark bruises that crept along the angles of her striking features.

He knew then, that no matter what, he would not let anything harm her.


	2. Captivity

_Practically trembling with excitement, Amera excitedly splashed a bit of cool water on her face to calm herself as she breathed in the sweet air of the gardens. She grinned as the ripples in the water slowly calmed and looked down at herself, carefully tilting her profile to make sure that there were no hidden smudges of dirt that she had missed in her inspection prior. She rose, contented, and carefully smoothed out the crimson dress that flowed over her._

_ Two weeks earlier, a courier had appeared at the gates of the city with a small scroll in hand, clad in the raiment of the White Tree. He had fidgeted with obvious nervous as he tilted his head upwards into the bright afternoon sky, blinded as the sun glistened off the high shining towers of Annuminas. He had practically fainted with surprise as Amera had suddenly appeared, tilting her head at him in curiosity as she opened the gate to allow him entrance. She knew she looked rather worse for wear, considering she had just been for a lovely swim and her tangled hair left damp patches upon her shoulders, but bowed gracefully as an attempt to appear welcoming as she smiled, "I bid you welcome to Annuminas, friend!"_

_ The messenger had eyed her warily as he nudged his horse forward, looking her up and down before dismounting and straightening his tunic. He outstretched his arm to her, shifting backwards as he did so, and flinched as she retrieved the scroll. Breaking the seal with a quick gnaw, which she noticed caused the messenger to wince, though she caused him no pain. Her eyes flitted over the words swiftly and grinning brightly, she looked up, _"Thank you kindly, mellon! Surely you are in need of rest after your journey, can I-" _She blinked as he abruptly turned from her, swinging his leg over his panting horse as he took his reins in his hands._

"Friend," She offered softly, deeply hurt by his apparent distrust as he looked down at over at the sharp angle of his nose, "Can I not get you some refreshment? Perhaps water or straw for your mount?"

_The man shook his head as he nudged his horse, carefully not to make eye contact with her as he turned to leave. _"I will tell the King that you await him." _And, before she could even offer a farewell, he had galloped away._

_ She had been rather confused at the entire interaction, but had quickly put it in the back of her mind as she raced to properly prepare the city. The streets had been swept spotless, as evidenced by the pain in her back whenever she leaned over. The library had been cleaned of any residual dust and as a result Amera had sneezed endlessly for what seemed like hours. The glistening, textured colored glass embedded in the marble buildings was delicately polished as Amera had scampered up the walls, hopping catlike from ledge to ledge as she made sure all was spotless._

_ And today, she sighed with pride as she looked out over her shining city as she awaited the arrival of Calmacil and his court. Amera had fretted over what to wear, for surely her leggings and tunic were not suitable for the King of Gondor, so she had searched through the vaults of the palace for something more fitting. She had eventually settled with a gown of dark crimson, fancying the loose sleeves that flowed over her hands and the cut that allowed her breastbones to feel the breeze. There had even been a small circlet that had no doubt belonged to a princess long ago, but she could never imagine herself wearing it and instead had wove violets into her dark, flowing hair. After scrubbed absolutely every inch of her body with furious determination, it seemed any and all specks of dirt were vanquished and as such, she now waited, biting her lip with nervous anticipation._

_ There, in the distance, she gasped softly as her sharp eyes spied the hazy outlines of horses. Picking up the waist of her dress, she struggled to control her excitement as her unclad feet padded down the marble stairs and towards the gate. As she reached the entrance of the city, she hurriedly opened the gates for now she could even make out the blurred forms of the riders that galloped forward. Taking a slow deep breath, she smoothed out her gown and waited for them to approach, for the first King to visit her in fifteen years._

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Amera groaned as she was roughly and suddenly dropped from the arms of her captor, opening her eyes slowly as she was instantly awakened from her dark dreams. She heard two little winces from beside her and glanced over, relieved to since a tired Merry and Pippin rubbing their aching limbs. A dirty skin filled with water was suddenly shoved in her direction and she blinked in surprise as she took it, closing her eyes in ecstasy as the simple chill rushed down her parched throat. However, she glanced over to the hobbits and swallowed, awkwardly offering it to them as her wrists rubbed together, bound by thick cord that dug into her delicate skin.

Pippin's eyes widening as he gratefully drank of it, smiling dreamily as he then passed it to Merry. She smiled faintly, her spirits lifted by the obvious pleasure they took in their refreshment, for something as simple as water could not be taken for granted in their captivity. Flinching as a moldy crust of bread and a gray, withered chunk of something bounced of her head, she narrowed her eyes and examined them closely. The bread itself was vile, but she supposed she could stick it in her pocket and save it for when the hobbits grew hungry.

However, the gray thing was a bit more suspicious. Pippin looked over to her, perking a brow as he too leaned in close to examine it. Amera narrowed her eyes and cautiously sniffed it, nearly vomiting as its rancid odor assaulted her senses. Realizing what it was as she looked over its mottled hue, she recoiled in horror and kicked it with her boot, causing it soar almost daintily through the night air as it landed into the thick grass a few yards away. "What was that for?" Merry gave her an odd look.

"That was something's _skin_, Merry."

His eyes widened in disgust and Amera nodded, nudging the bread crust towards the two hobbits with a quick flick of her wrists. "Take it."

Pippin paused, his eyes revealing his concern as he murmured in return, "You need to be eating, Mera'."

She smiled faintly at the way he shortened her name and shook her head, "I do not need to eat as much as you do. I can go for a very long time without anything, so you need not worry." While that was rather true, her stomach nonetheless ached as it searched for some source of nourishment but she focused her senses elsewhere, ignoring the growing knot of pain.

OOOOOOOOOOO

He knew she was lying and was angry with her for doing so, furious even. But, before he could respond, an orc suddenly grabbed Amera by her collar, roughly dragging her to her feet. She gasped in pain and fell back down as he let go with a sharp laugh, her limbs numb as hours of no use. "Get er' over here!" He heard another growl from around the small fire the orcs had created and Amera was pulled up roughly yet again as the orc dragged her away.

Her eyes widened with fear, glittering in the moonlight beneath bruised lids, as her gaze met his. Ugluk rose, crossing his broad arms over his rippling chest as he growled, tilting his chin to the orc that held Amera. "Strip her chest."

Pippin tasted bile in the back of his throat as the others cackled at this, turning to watch as Amera turned very pale. The orc grinned, cracked, sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight as he gleefully unlaced the string that held Amera's tattered hauberk together. He threw it to the ground, leaving her to shiver in a simple, cotton shirt and leggings as she remained silent. Smirking, he reached for the last layer that covered her slender torso as the orcs jeered and laughed.

"Don't touch her!" Pippin cried out, his small voice ringing out through the shadows. Amera opened her eyes, which he saw were filled with absolute desperation as she shook her head, shouting, "Pippin, be quiet!"

Ugluk grunted once, his yellow eyes glittering with malice as he strode towards Pippin. Pippin trembled with fear, swallowing hard as the only noise of the camp was his heavy footfall, growing louder and louder with each step. His breath was raspy and guttural as he reached a hand towards Pippin, who closed his eyes and willed himself to be brave for Amera and Merry.

"If you touch him, I swear to you I will kill you!" Amera's cry rang through the night and Ugluk hissed, his neck cracking as he turned swiftly to look over his shoulder. Pippin opened his eyes in horror as Ugluk bared his fangs in the moonlight and turned to face Amera, who stared at him with unabashed fury in her eyes through the stray locks of hair that fell over her bruised face. She repeated herself once more, his voice filled with a terrible power he had never heard from her before, nor had imagined her to be capable of. "I will kill you if you touch him."

He shivered as he watched her, for he remembered that while she was his ally, and as dear a friend as any he could hope for, she will still very, very dangerous. Beneath her beautiful, gentle exterior lay something that remained feral and untamed despite her long life, a force to be reckoned with. She was an enemy to be feared.

Pippin cursed himself for speaking up as Ugluk strode towards her, the camp remaining perfectly silent as they watched. Ugluk looked her up and down, his lip curling in contempt for a moment before his great hand rose, a sharp crack ringing through the night as he backhanded her. She fell to her knees with a muffled sob and he winced in pain as Ugluk cursed her in his dark tongue, her shoulders rising and falling as her face was hidden behind the dark curtain of her hair. Then, another cry went up, but this time from around the campfire.

A black, scrawny orc with arms that dangled by his sides howled as he rose, Amera's blade glittering with firelight as he threw it before Ugluk's feet. By now, Pippin had come to realize that his captors were, in fact, two different races of orcs. The taller, stronger Uruks were creatures of Saruman, while the spawn of Mordor were scrawnier and cursed the light, their limbs twisted and misshapen. And so it was they had saw the orcs of Mordor begin to hiss, screaming and shrieking like drowning cats as they stared at Amera's blade. The uruks looked amongst themselves in confusion, but were silent as Ugluk stood up, his deafening roar silencing the raucous camp. "What's this about, Shagrat?"

"Don't you know what that sword is, you fool?" Shagrat limped forward, his fanged teeth gnashing together as he pointed a disgustingly long finger towards the pale blade.

Ugluk grunted and shook his head as Amera remained silent, unmoving save for the movements of her chest as she breathed.

Shagrat spat, proclaiming the sword to be a word Pippin was unable to understand, but it was something between a hiss and phlegmy growl as the other orcs whispered amongst themselves. Ugluk snorted, shrugging as he smirked, "The Fighting Uruk-Hai care nothing for your pathetic tales, Mordor scum."

"This blade belonged to a demon," Shagrat hissed as he slowly crept closer, his neck tilting as his heavily browed eyes fell upon Amera, "A water demon who cut down our ancestors at Fornost alongside the pointy ears."

Pippin blinked, meeting Merry's eyes for a moment as they watched Shagrat begin to pace, never taking his eyes off Amera as his companions came to stand beside him. His voice was but a whisper now, twisted and filled with malice as his eyes glittered in the firelight. "Your…_master_," He spat the word with contempt, "Knows not what he's gettin' himself into, Ugluk. If he knows what's good for im', he'd kill the bitch first change he got."

Pippin froze at this, terror rising in him as he watched the orcs nod at this, fury appearing in their eyes as Shagrat's words stirred fear and anger within them. Ugluk growled lowly as he stood in front of Amera and a few of his companions joined him, forming a wall between Shagrat and Amera. "If any of you," Ugluk snapped, spittle flying from his lips, "_Any of you_ touch her, there'll be hell to pay. Got that?"

Shagrat did not move and Ugluk strode forward, his roar so deafening Pippin's ears ran with its intensity, "Got that, maggots?" Shagrat met his eyes but for a moment, then spat and turned away as Ugluk snarled. Pippin then released he had not been breathing and inhaled deeply with relief as the near disaster was averted. The orcs scattered, chittering amongst themselves as Ugluk turned once more to face Amera. He knelt and Pippin saw something appear in his enormous palm as he roughly ripped away her shirt, a faint whimper coming from Amera as flinched.

Pippin looked away instinctively as Merry gasped beside him, but looked back after a moment as Amera remained silent. The sharp arches of her shoulder blades were prominent in the moonlight, each rib outlined as she slowly breathed and he spied the wound she had received in Moria, raw and dark against her pale side. Ugluk slapped a dark, thick mixture on the wound as Amera flinched, then roughly applied it to the puncture in her shoulder, then across the scars that ravaged her back. Once he was done, he dressed her swiftly and dragged her back to where Pippin and Merry watched with horror and confusion.

She winced as she collided with the ground, silent as Ugluk grinned widely at her, "Sharkey wanted you alive and alive he'll get you." He then returned to the campfire, picking up Amera's blade as he did so.

Amera sighed with utter relief, her shoulders relaxing as Merry whispered, "Amera, are you alright? What was that stuff?"

She opened her pale eyes and shrugged, "Some sort of poultice. I've no desire to know what it was made of, but there is less pain now."

"You need to be careful, Amera," Pippin murmured from beside her as he looked towards the campfire and saw Shagrat's gaze fall on his friend, "That small one's got it out for you."

She attempted a faint smile, blowing away a whisp of hair from the corner of her mouth. "I suppose I should be flattered that my blade made a name for itself, if nothing else."

Pippin rolled his eyes, angered by her dismissal of his warning, and whispered once more, "Please, Amera, the way they looked at you…" He trailed off, silent for a moment, then solemnly finished, "Just stay close to Ugluk, Amera. Please."

She paused as she recognized the dire seriousness in his voice, the mischievous glittering of his eyes gone as he stared at her with worry. Amera slowly nodded, her voice terribly soft, "I promise, Pippin."


	3. Darkness Before the Dawn

Merry flickered between dreams and reality as the arduous journey went on, losing all track of time as his head bounced against the iron helm and thick, tangled chunks of hair that rested up his captor's head as they journeyed on through the day. From the corner of his eye, he saw Pippin tossed on the back of one of the hardy uruk-hai, his eyes closed as well in an attempt for the terrible journey to somehow go faster. The hot afternoon sun burned the back of his neck and seemed to pain the smaller orcs greatly, for they hissed and panted as they struggled to keep pace with the sturdier lot. They had stopped briefly as ordered by Ugluk, for those the orcs from Mordor were near ready to collapse, their misshapen, ill-hued tongue dangling from thick lips as they guzzled what water remained in their skins.

But, just as soon as the break had begun, for he rejoiced in the sudden stillness, their pace quickened. A small ray of hope pierced the darkness that began to surround Merry's heart as they grew nearer and nearer to Isengard, for such meant that Aragorn and the others were perhaps behind them, were even now running across the rock plains and through the thick grass to rescue from this torment. Pippin was tired now, he knew, for they only smiled at each other in their exhaustion, their tongues too dry to form words as the heat of midday burned down upon them. He would occasionally catch a glance of Amera, who hung from the outstretched arms of one of the strongest of the creatures, like some sort of sacrifice to be ushered to Saruman. He was aware of the act she put on for them, of how she comforted them and was strong when they needed it most, but he also knew that she was deeply in pain.

Her strange, flickering eyes, while still beautiful, had lost some of their unearthly sheen, that almost eerie spark that had seemed to capture and draw him in as he had met her gaze so many times. There was such great sorrow there now, more than there had been before, and there was a shadow in her smile, a slight delay. As he had looked over his shoulder, catching but a brief look as his battered friend, he had seen tears gently streak down her bruised face, leaving small, clear paths through the dirt. Amera was breaking, and while he could not even imagine the will it had taken for her to even live after what had happened, he knew that the journey was hard upon her already weary spirit.

Just as worrying was the fact that she was still alive at all, he had realized, for it was no secret as to why he and Pippin were being taken to Isengard. Saruman no doubt do that it was a hobbit that carried the Ring, though he did not know which, and as such killing them was too great a risk. Amera, however, could not possibly have the Ring and while she was immensely powerful in her own, strange way, he could not think of a reason for Saruman to want her alive. He was aware that he had seen but a fraction of her power, for he thought that perhaps she herself did not truly know what she was capable of, but what use was a water spirit to Saruman the White?

His thoughts were interrupted as he was tossed upon the ground for yet another quick break, instantly and fully awake as he winced. Pippin, too, fell beside him and a moment later Amera was dropped with an absolute lack of care. Groaning, Merry glanced around to his two friends and they briefly inquired as to make sure everyone was alright, or rather as well as one could be in a situation such as this. Amera was very quiet, her eyes distant as she stared out at the endless plains around them, only speaking when absolutely asked to. After a few more minutes of rather one-sided discussions, Pippin closed his eyes and curled up against the soft earth, no doubt a welcome change from the sweating, heaving back of the uruk, and appeared to fall asleep almost instantly.

After a moment, Merry crawled towards Amera and joined her in looking out over the Gap of Rohan, over the realm of the horse lords, as he had once heard Gandalf explain to an insulted Gimli after yet another mention of the benefits of Moria. It was beautiful, these lands, so very different from the rolling hills and gentle forests of the Shire. Rocky outcroppings dotted the plains, speckled grey and white against the copper fields, their long sheaths of wheat and grass rippling as the breeze stirred them. He followed her gaze towards the icy peaks of the dark mountains that rose abruptly around them, distant snow shimmering beneath a golden sun as he remembered the bitter chill of Caradhras.

He then turned to Amera and watched a few stray tendrils of hair swirled around her expressionless face as she stared out at the world and finally whispered, "Are you alright, Amera?"

She blinked once but did not turn, quiet for a pause before softly replying, "I am just thinking, Merry."

"About what?"

She swallowed hard and closed her eyes for a brief moment, her shoulders falling slightly as she rested on her elbows, and he knew where her thoughts led her. He watched her as he chose his words carefully, finally murmuring, "Did you know?"

"Know what?"

"That he loved you."

Her eyes closed tightly and he saw her lip tremble very slightly. She opened her mouth to speak but swiftly closed it as her breath grew ragged and her teeth bit down on the corner of her lip. He looked away for a moment, feeling like he was intruding on such private recollections, but he continued softly, "The way he looked at you at Amon Hen, I knew it. I…I had suspected it before, but I saw it in his eyes and could no longer doubt it."

A faint smile, tinged with grief, appeared on her face as she whispered in reply, "Thank you, Merry. It," She swallowed hard, pausing to keep her emotions in check, "It means much to hear you say that."

"Did you love him, Amera?"

A few stray tears rolled down her cheeks as her flickering eyes opened, briefly shining with happiness as she murmured, "Yes," The sheen of her joy faded then, replaced with such deep sorrow that Merry wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and allow her to cry, as she whispered, "Though I had not the chance to tell him."

"I think he knew."

Amera then turned to him, her eyes widening slightly as they silently begged for an explanation. Merry looked down for a moment, each word carefully planned as he replied, "When he looked at you, he…he always smiled, no matter what. He tried to hide it, of course, but I saw the way he was happy when you were happy, like it comforted him."

She closed her eyes at his words, smiling peacefully as her mind no doubt ran through memories he could not began to guess at, though he had his suspicions. Finally, she opened her eyes once more and he saw a bit of the shadow had departed as she whispered, "Thank you, Merry."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Amera shivered as the cool, night breeze whispered through her tattered hauberk to dance, unwelcome, over her skin and she pulled her cloak around her shoulders as best she could. She sighed and looked down at her bound hands, at the thick strip around her wrists that had been rubbed raw over the past two days by the constant friction, almost glowing in the pale light. She had tried numerous times, when she had made sure no one was looking, but the leather strips were bound far too tightly and intricately for any chance of escape.

She knew little of these lands, had only ever read about them so very long ago in the dusty tomes of the great library, but knew nonetheless that they grew ever closer to Isengard, to Saruman. She was lucky to be alive, she could not doubt that, but feared what awaited them once they would. The hobbits would be fairly safe until Saruman realized they did not carry that which he so yearned for and that result of the discovery filled her with dread. She, on the other hand, could not begin to imagine what reasoning lay behind the wizard's orders to keep her alive. She was useless to him, save for some sort of bargaining chip with which he fancied he could achieve some sort of end, but she had vowed to herself as her mind filtered through every possible scenario, that she would kill herself before she would prove any sort of liability to her friends.

Still, perhaps Aragorn and the others were behind them. Perhaps there lay their hope.

The sharp cracks of axe against wood interrupted her thoughts and she glanced to Pippin, who flinched as each stroke made its mark and rang through the empty plains. She shifted onto her side and turned from the boundaries of the forest, for sound of such ancient beauty dying to fuel the fires of such beasts burdened her. Those branches had seen so much, had encountered thousands of the warm embraces of summer and the sharp bite of winter, had watched as the distant mountain peaks ascended higher and higher into the radiant sky as time had passed and now, all those memories, were simply fed to flames.

She turned to Merry and Pippin, who were quietly talking amongst themselves, but paused as a strange sound suddenly rang out above the metallic clanging of the axes. It was a low, almost sort of _moan_ that sent a shiver down her spine and she blinked, reassured that her exhaustion had not caused her to imagine such as both the hobbits froze mid-sentence. They were silent as they stared at each other, straining their ears to make out the noise once more. And yes, there it was, a strange, low rumbling that made its way through the twisted forest.

Both Merry and Pippin looked to her and she shook her head, whispered fiercely, "I know not what it is!"

Pippin tilted his head in reply, "But didn't you, er, sleep or whatever exactly it is you did, in Fangorn?"

She paused for a moment and nodded, hazy memories rising to the surface of consciousness as she said, "Yes, but you must understand that I literally recall _nothing_ about it, Pip." She closed her eyes, biting her lip as she struggled to make out what lie beneath the rippling images and sensations that were her memories of Fangorn. "I…I remember the trees seemed so very ancient that even I felt but a child in their presence. And it was quiet, yes, it was eerily silent, for I heard no birds nor rustlings of animals as I walked over the winding roots."

Neither of the hobbits seemed particularly comforted by this description, but Merry's eyes widened as he whispered suddenly, "Pip, remember those stories people used to tell about the Old Forest, you know, on the edges of Buckland." Pippin shook his head slowly in confusion as Amera watched closely. Merry sighed and looked to them both as he explained, "People used to say-well, mostly my uncle Odo when he'd had a bit too much to drink, but he'd say that the trees in there were funny-like, you see."

Amera and Pippin stared at him blankly, so he continued, lowering his voice as his eyes trailed to the dark outlines of the trees. "Uncle Odo would say that you'd be walking and feel like somethin' was just watching you, or following you, and you would turn around and swear that suddenly the forest had grown in tighter around you, like it didn't want you going on any farther." Judging by Amera's skeptical face once, he sighed and whispered, "People used to say the trees could _move_."

"Don't be ridiculous, Merry," Pippin rolled his eyes from beside Amera, "It's not like nature just had a mind of its own, you know."

Merry snorted, "And so states the hobbit lying beside the girl that came from a _lake_."

Amera coughed lightly at this, shrugging as a faint blush appeared in Pippin's cheeks, "Not quite, but close enough." The strange sound whispered once more through the forest, stirring the leaves that fanned over their heads like a canopy. She shivered slightly and Pippin took notice, for he shifted up against her and awkwardly lifted his bound hands to pull her cloak around her shoulders. She smiled at him as he seemed not to realize the impact of his kindness and she realized the true depth of how very much she cared for both him and Merry. They were so courageous, so brave despite all that had been suddenly thrust upon them. They did not deserve to experience such darkness, to know such grief and pain, but yet, they carried on with such great fortitude that never ceased to amaze her. Such strange little things, these hobbits were, but so very strong after all.

The three turned their heads as an argument suddenly broke out amongst the orcs and Amera overheard something like dissatisfaction with the food over the raucous growlings, which she rather had to agree with. However, her agreement quickly faded into something like terror as the bloodshot eyes of the ravenous orcs shifted towards the hobbits. She shifted in front of them immediately, doing her best to block them from view as one gangly creature tilted it head, snapping its maw as it hissed, "What bout' them? They're fresh?"

There was a murmur of agreement and Amera felt the steady thump of adrenaline begin to course through in her veins, her body instinctively prepared for conflict despite its exhaustion. "Yes!" Another gleefully licked its filthy lips, taking a quick step closer as it reasoned, "They don't need their legs."

Ugluk stepped in front of her, growling. "The prisoners are to be taken to Saruman alive and unspoiled, you stinkin' rats!"

"Why alive?" The first orc whined, almost hopping to get a better glance at the hobbits she sheltered behind her.

"They've got somethin' the old man wants, some sort of elvish weapon, but it ain't none of your business, Morgul scum!" Ugluk roared as the other uruks around him beat their broad chests in agreement.

"What bout' the girl, then?" There was a rumble at this and Amera swallowed hard as another voice spoke up, "You might as well let us 'ave a bit of fun with her, your wizard won't be able to tell." A few more orcs cried out in agreement and Amera's heart began to beat very fast in her chest as her fingers twitched, ready at the defense should it become necessary.

Suddenly, Pippin cried out from behind her and she whirled around, her eyes growing wide as the leering head of an orc snapped towards his shoulder. Instinctively, she lashed out with her foot and caught him off balance, but was thrown to the side by a strong hand. Wincing, she watched as Ugluk's furious roars pierced the quiet of the night as he raised his great sword and sliced through the neck of the attacker in the shadows. Pippin gasped in horror as the bloodied head fell upon his shoulder for a moment, the body shooting out a steady stream of blood from its neck as it stumbled and fell behind them.

The camp was silent, the eyes of all who had witnessed the brutality wide. After a long moment, Ugluk raised his sword to his lips and slowly licked the dark blood from the blade, then roared once more, "Looks like meats back on the menu, boys!"

Merry and Pippin were thrown aside too as the feeding frenzy began. Amera recoiled in horror as she felt a cool liquid splatter her forward, disgusted as the orcs of both Isengard and Mordor tore into the body of their companion with ravenous glee. They cared for nothing now but the taste of blood and pull of meat beneath their teeth, Amera shook her head with utter revulsion as she was unable to tear her eyes away.

And then, she blinked as she realized this was the chance they had been waiting for. She met Merry and Pippin's eyes, for they both had come to the same realization, and she whispered with shining eyes illuminated by the moon, "Time to go."


	4. Shadows of Fangorn

They began to crawl as swiftly as possible and Amera winced as the pain in her side flared, her elbows propelling her through the thick grass. She bit her lip as she looked over her shoulder and sighed with relief as the orcs continued to feast on their companion, trying her very best to ignore the thick, watery sounds of tearing and gnashing lest she vomit, which they certainly did not have the time for. They scurried as quickly as their binds and aching limbs would allow towards the shadowed trees, tall and proud as they loomed overhead into the night sky.

However, Amera froze as she heard a strange noise in the distance. She narrowed her eyes as she looked to the south and nudged the hobbits to stop, focusing intently. Then, without warning, the ground beneath them began to shake, the tremors steadily increasing as the noise grew loud and louder. Pippin gasped from beside her and she looked around, preparing herself for whatever was approaching. A loud cry pierced the night; the voices of men ringing together and echoing through the moonlit plains. Amera and the hobbits were still for but a moment longer, blinking in shock, but began to move once more as Merry hissed, "Hurry!"

The ground was shaking so furiously now that Amera whimpered in pain as her ribs smacked against the rocky ground, the leather cutting mercilessly into her bloodied wrist as she dragged herself towards the shadows of Fangorn. She then recognized the sound, for once the great steeds of the Earnur's army had thundered through the valleys of Evendim, their hoof beats echoing through the canyons and glades as they had galloped to meet Angmar head on. She looked over her shoulders, her eyes widening as the silhouettes of men and horses were dark against the starry sky, growing larger as they grew closer.

A cry went up amongst the orcs and she gasped as the riders charged into the fray, their spears glinting in the moonlight as they struck down all in their path. Gurgling roars and snarls matched the fair cries of men as the skirmish began, the dark blood of orcs, horses and men staining the copper earth beneath their feet. Recognizing that their best chance for escape now lay in swiftness, Amera struggled to rise but managed to make it onto her feet. Leaning down, she helped the hobbits up, but fell and rolled to the side as a horse galloped past her, its eyes wide with fright as froth poured from its mouth. "Run!" She cried as she rose to her knees but fell down once more as the ground heaved beneath her, crying out as her jaw collided with the dirt. Merry and Pippin stared at her in shock and terror, dodging the horses and men that towered over their heads as the chaos continued. She finally made it to her feet with a growl of pain, cursing the loose tendrils of her that fell around her face as she yelled, "I will meet you in the forest! Now _go!"_

Pippin took a step towards her, confused as he opened his mouth to speak but was silenced as she cried, "I need my sword! Wait for me in the forest!" Merry grabbed him and they ran, their backs turned to her as she hurriedly scanned the battle, searching for any sign of her blade as she ran. Her boots jumped over the bodies of both men and orc-kind as she chewed furiously as her leather bindings, cursing as she was unable to free herself. The cries of the dying and wounded were enough to make her head spin as she struggled onwards, kicking down the occasional orc as she sprinted through the field. From the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of silver and knelt, trembling with adrenaline as she worked her bonds against the dull edge of one of the uruk's swords. She let out a small cry of triumph as the strips fell away, revealing a bloody circle curling around her wrists. She carried not as she hurried on, picking up the sword and slashing through the fray as she made her way to the campfire.

And there it lay among the weeds, where she had seen Ugluk drop it just minutes earlier. She wrapped her hand around the familiar grip and grinned as it flickered in the firelight, as lethal and beautiful as ever it had been. Amera struggled to contain her breath as the heat of battle surged through her veins, focusing her mind on reaching Fangorn as she took off at a sprint through the chaos. And there, just up ahead, she spied two green cloaks disappear in the thick woods and rejoiced inwardly for she knew Merry and Pippin had made it. However, her victory was short lived as she was suddenly thrust to the ground, crying out in surprise as a rider toppled from his steed and onto her, his horse whinnying as it galloped madly away.

Scrambling to free herself from beneath his dead weight, for she could feel his blood staining her already filthy hauberk, she finally rose with a cry of disgust as she stared at the dark crimson that soiled her hands. Amera was captivated by it for a moment in her utter exhaustion, at the way the moonlight gleamed richly in the lifeblood of another as it dripped from her fingertips, but her thoughts were broken as a horse shrieked in pain from behind her. She turned instinctively, watching helplessly as the proud steed was gutted by the thick sword of an uruk, it's rider toppling onto the ground as it fell in agony. She looked back over her shoulder towards the forest where Merry and Pippin waited for here then back to the fallen rider, who struggled to rise as the beast loomed over him.

For a brief moment, the world seemed to slow, growing silent as her mind flickered with memories. She watched the uruk take another step as the rider drug himself backwards, clutching his side as a dark stain began to grow from beneath his armor. She felt the weight of her precious blade in her hand, its touch as familiar as a lover's as her rushing adrenaline ignored the enormous pain that surged through her body. Once, she had defended one of the Eldar as he had laid stricken before the Witch-king, fearful of the great doom that rose before him and now she had no choice but to save this fallen man, to defy the monstrosity that rose before him as she had once before.

With a cry, she rushed forward and drew her blade back before slicing into the neck of the Uruk-hai, who howled with pain for but a moment as his head was severed. Torrents of blood sprung from his neck as the body twitched and fell to the side, the head rolling towards the foot of the rider. She met the eyes of the man she had just saved, wide with confusion and terror from beneath his helm as he stared at her. She held out a hand to him, which was declined as he recoiled fiercely, and she remembered she most likely looked like more an enemy than an ally in her blood stained robes, her dark hair streaming over her bruised face as she looked down at him.

The rider rose to his feet, his confused gaze never leaving hers as he clutched his side and cried out, "What are you?" over the roar of the battle. She smiled very faintly for a moment and stated simply, "A friend." Amera then turned and sprinted towards the edge of Fangorn, cutting down anything that lay in her path without remorse. Her blade flashed in the pale light as she turned and struck down an uruk, her chest heaving as the memory of Boromir flashed through her mind. Another orc appeared beside her and she roared in it's face as she drove her blade into its neck as memories continued to flood her consciousness. Of the way he had looked at her as he had fallen to his knees. The way his chest had risen and fallen so slowly with the weight of two arrows. The way he had cried out to her, his voiceso greatly pained. Of the way they had both known he was going to die.

Only did she become aware of the tears streaming down her face when she tasted their saltiness as they washed over her lips. She blinked once, looking at the piles of the dead that surrounded her and the thick blood that dripped from her hands with horror. She had lost herself in the heat of battle and a vain attempt at revenge for the one she had lost, in the process forgetting the hobbits. She bit back what tears remained as she sprinted towards the forest's edge, desperate to drive the sounds of the dying and wounded from her mind as she sought silence and rest beneath the gnarled branches.

Amera gasped with relief as she dove into Fangorn, gasping for breath as her body became aware of her bruises and pain while the rush of adrenaline slowly faltered. She wiped her sleeve around her forehead and tucked her hair behind her ears as she scanned the dark forest, calling out for Merry and Pippin. She waited in silence for a moment, for they were no doubt hiding somewhere behind the aged trunk of the giants that towered above her, and felt a shiver run down her spine.

There was a certain familiarity to the forest that had engulfed her, for even now she could not hear the sounds of battle nor any rustlings of birds and wild creatures. No, it was silent and dark save for the occasional beam of moonlight that had made its way through the thick leaves and branches above her head. The air itself was mustier than the library at Rivendell, she realized as she let out a tiny cough, seemingly undisturbed. Leaning against a tree, her sword still clutched tightly in her right hand, she called out once more as she searched for them amongst the dark, hazy shapes spread before her.

She was greeted with silence.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Amera's mind was blank save for the thought of finding the hobbits as her feet clumsily sank into the soft earth, each step taking up more energy than the last as she drug herself further and further in the dark of Fangorn. She had lost all sense of time long ago and had lost count of the amount of times she had called out for Merry and Pippin, her spirit sinking as each hope of a response from broken. Her throat screamed for water while her stomach's constant growls reminded her that she had not eaten in several days as she trekked, her sword limp in her hand as she had lost the energy to hold it at the ready.

Every now and then, she would trip over a hidden root, crying out as her face was slammed into the soft moss and each time it became harder to get her to feet. Her mind whispered for her to rest, to soothe her aching limbs, but she blocked out all save for the hobbits, lost somewhere beneath the twisting trees and winding branches. She was going to find them, she vowed, no matter how long it took or what lay between them.

And so it was that she froze in horror, her senses instantly sharp, as she stared at a small pool of blood that glistened in the shadows. She knelt, trembling slightly as her gaze followed a small trail of droplets further into the forest. She rose and sprinted as fast she could, careful to never lose sight of bloodstains, which grew steadily larger and larger as she went deeper into Fangorn. Biting her lip in anxiety and struggling to keep out the horrible images that flooded her mind, she stopped as the mangled corpse of an orc lay before her.

She gasped slightly, her eyes widening in horror was she was unable to turn away as she stared at the unbelievably large amount of blood that had soaked the green earth around the orc, though in truth it was difficult to tell what it had once more. For now, it was a pulpy mess of angled limbs and jumbled organs, as if an enormous rock had suddenly fallen upon it. She began to call out for Merry and Pippin with renewed urgency, recoiling as she spied what appeared to be enormous _footprints_ that led away from the corpse. Her mind initially refused to believe such, for the strange prints embedded deep in the earth reached out unlike any foot she had ever seen, like twisting roots instead of toes.

And there, she saw as she fell to her knees in defeat, pressed deep into the moss, lie a strip of green cloak from the hobbit's cloak, matching the own that covered her back. Whatever had crushed the orc with such reckless cruelty now had Merry and Pippin. In her delay at the camp, they had been taken by something she could not fathom, something ancient and terrible in its power.

She had lost them.

As Amera stared with blank eyes at the scene before her, her sword falling from her hand, her emotions stirred deep with her heart and threatened to rise further as she was bombarded with memories long buried. She closed her eyes, gasping and trembling as she once more saw the hopelessness in Boromir's shining eyes, the fingertips of Gandalf as they had slid along the shattered bridge before his fall, the mischievous grins of her beloved Merry and Pippin. A thousand recollections rippled through her all at once, stealing her breath with their intensity as centuries of pain, anger and grief flooded her spirit. The comfort of Nienna's words were lost unto her as her bloodied hands began to shake, her eyes widening as she gasped for breath and all that she had locked away within the depths of her mind was renewed.

Unable to control herself any longer, she gave into her pain and cried out from the depths of her soul, her agony slipping in her voice as it echoed through the forest. She cared not who heard her for she cared for nothing anymore. Her body wished for tears, to convey her suffering in some soft beauty, but there were no tears left in her as she screamed, forgetting everything but the torrent of emotions that drowned her. Her shoulders shook with the intensity of her cry as the veins in her neck strained, her eyes wide as her lungs screaming for rest, for some small breath of oxygen.

She collapsed then and her bruised body shook as she wept emptily, her fingers digging into the cool moss and earth that rested beneath her. However, just as she was to close her eyes in utter exhaustion, she suddenly saw her shadow before her. She blinked once, drawing her tongue over her lips slowly as she struggled to understand what was happening as pure white light seemed to pour over her, illuminating the thick, tangled roots of the trees that rose above her. There was brief, momentary confusion and then she knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, from whence the light came.

Amera swallowed hard, her grief forgotten as her fingers tightened around the hilt of her sword as she took a deep breath and prepared herself to face Saruman the White, who chuckled from behind her as he questioned, "And what have we here?"


	5. Unexpected Reunions

Gandalf watched as her bloodied fingers slowly crept to the grip of her sword, different than the one he seen her wield in Moria, he noted with mild interest. However, his curiosity was short lived for he watched her whirl to her feet, her cloak swirling around her as she turned to face him, her blade ready in her hand. He caught but a brief glimpse of the anger that swirled in her pale eyes, fire against the rippling water, but she staggered back as the light blinded her. She raised a hand to shield her eyes as she gasped, struggling to look at him.

He smiled at her, though he knew she could not see it and plainly stated, "Someone had told me you were dead, my dear."

Her lip curled in contempt as she snarled in return, "Then you should be disappointed to see that they were wrong."

He grinned at this, hidden behind the shining light, as he watched her. "On the contrary, Aeliniel, I am quite pleased to see you well, though I must admit, upon our last meeting you did not greet me as such."

She withdrew her hand from her face, laughing darkly as she shook her head. Her eyes were distant for a moment, he saw, as she recalled some distant memory stored away amongst thousands. But then she spoke and her words were low, almost pained as she replied, "The girl that greeted you with open arms before the white streets of Annuminas, that stammered and bowed low before you, that knew not that pain and darkness that laid beyond the high walls of her home," She shook her head slowly, looking to meet his gaze without fear as she finished, "She died long ago."

And it was true, Gandalf sighed as he looked over her now. Once, at their first introduction, she had been almost painfully sweet, wishing for nothing more than someone to speak to as she had led them through that which she cherished. She had smiled with such profound innocence that he recalled feeling immense pity as he watched her, for he knew such could not last. Amera had been beautiful and fair and but a child as she had danced through the marbled streets, dark hair streaming over bare shoulders and a pale, loose gown. Yet, there had been a faint glimmer of strength within her, yes, something that she herself did not yet recognize. Saruman could not see it in his distrust of a creature so unaffected by the cares of the world, though she did not yet know them. But beneath the shining eyes and shy grin, Gandalf had sensed something more within Amera, something waiting to be awoken as it slumbered deep within her spirit.

But now, Gandalf felt his heart stir with both affection and pity as he looked over his old friend, who trembled as she struggled even to stand, tangles of dirty hair framing her pale face. And yes, there was the black eye he had been told of and he saw the rest of the angles of her face were splattered with dark blood, her lower lip thick as he detected a cut across it. Around her right shoulder was a crude bandage wrapped around her filthy hauberk and no circlet lay upon her fair head, but a wound crusted with dried blood that stained her dark hair. And her eyes, once filled with such light as to take his breath away, were now filled with anger and sorrow, regret and pain flickering as she looked at him with absolute loathing, the tilt of her neck noble as even now her slender hand gripped her blade. The fair, sweet Aeliniel that had watched him with wide, nervous eyes was gone, never to return and Amera Dagorwen, champion of the Free Peoples and bane of Angmar, had risen to take her place.

"And so it would seem, indeed." He watched her closely, her eyes watering as they battled the intensity of the light while he continued softly, "Why is it now that you greet me with blade in hand, as a foe instead of friend, as once you did."

Amera's eyes widened as she bared her teeth for a moment as her fury was revealed, her chest rising and falling as she snarled, "Because you turned your back on the Free Peoples you once claimed to care so greatly for, because your servants even now ravage all in their path as you strive to gain power that is not rightly yours."

Gandalf remained silent for a moment, taking in her passionate words, then plainly stated as Saruman once had to him, "As the Dark Lord rises in the East, Aeliniel, these Free Peoples cannot look beyond their own pride to recognize their common enemy. What bond of brotherhood remained between the races is long gone. What reasons have I to not side with the victor when no hope remains?"

"There is always hope!" Her cry rang through the silent forest as he watched, beaming with pride as she continued, her face shining with passion beneath the grime, "Even now alliances are remembered and renewed as men, dwarves and elves take up arms in defense of that which they cherish." He saw a small smile flicker across her bruised lips, her voice shining as she replied, "Even now a halfling goes forth to challenge your master."

So Frodo had left with the Ring, Gandalf noted, his suspicions had been correct. He took a step forward, hidden still behind the curtain of white light as Amera raised her sword in defense. "Your Fellowship is broken, Aeliniel." He saw her bite the corner of her lip at this, but continued, "For you know not what has become of the heir of Isildur, nor of his companions, the dwarf and the prince." She stared at him with cold fury in her eyes, unmoving as he looked over her. "And what has become of the two hobbits left in your care, perhaps they had met with someone they did not expect?"

She snarled at this, the feral within her rising to the surface as he watched her with great pride, moved by the care she had for Merry and Pippin. "Gandalf fell to the darkness of Khazad-Dum and yes, there was another," He watched her, more carefully than before, searching for signs of what he had long suspected. "What became of the captain of Gondor, of the Steward's son?"

Amera trembled at this, faltering for but a moment as deep, fresh grief appeared in her pale eyes. Her jaw was set as she slowly hissed, "You know well, Saruman, for surely your servants reported to you."

"You have seen hundreds of men fall in your long life, Aeliniel," Gandalf pried further to confirm his suspicions, though he pitied her greatly as he watched her crumble, what strength remaining in her battered body drowning beneath her grief. "Yet there is something different in your eyes now, some grief that did not rest upon the great men that you both cherished and counseled, save for this one. Tell me, Aeliniel, what is so different about Boromir, son of Gondor?"

She snarled at his, trembling furiously as her eyes blazed with pain and anger, "You have not the right to speak his name."

He took a firm step forward, repeating his question beneath a wide smile, though she was blind to it. "Why such great sorrow?"

"I loved him!" Her cry rang through the forest, pure in its sorrow as he watched tears spring to her eyes, her knuckles white as she gripped her sword with renewed intensity. "I have never wished for _anything_," She roared openly now, speaking from the depths of her soul as her free hand traveled to rest over her heart, "Save that my duty be fulfilled! I wanted _nothing___and I allowed myself to feel what I had thought myself incapable of, to give into that which was kept from me for so long." She paused now, swallowing hard as her voice cracked, thick with despair, "And I could not save him, not even from himself."

Gandalf smiled so very softly as her from behind the light that poured from him, his eyes gentle with affection as they gazed over Amera, who swallowed hard and raised her sword one last as she summoning the last vestiges of her strength. Her voice low was as she shook her head with disgust, pale tears flickering as they trailed down her face and washed away the dirt and blood.

"Pay now for the evil you have spread across this land, for your treason against the Free Peoples."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Amera knew she could not stand against Saruman now, perhaps not even at the height of her strength, for even now such great power emanated from him that her hair stood on end, her eyes burning with the intensity of the light that cloaked him. She could so barely make out his form, unable to see even his piercing, dark eyes behind the bright mantle that fell around him. Still, she could try, for she had always tried, had always hoped on that last, small hope that perhaps the victor was not always pre-determined.

And so it was that she rushed forward, her eyes blazing as she charged Saruman the White with sword raised and heart full, her mind swirling with the images of her lost friends as she cried out. Her sword swung through the air, graceful and deadly, but she dropped her sword with a gasp as it suddenly burned her, the familiar leather grip searing her hand as she stumbled backwards in fear and confusion as the great curtain between them was dropped and she looked upon the face of the being before her.

Amera fell to her knees, eyes wide as she beheld what her heart desperately wished to be true, but her mind could not conceive. She looked up into the calm, familiar eyes of one who had been lost to her, lost to the dark chasm and fiery whip of a Balrog as they met her own. He gazed down at her with such pure affection, such softness that it stole her breath away, for she wished to believe that he had somehow returned, that her mind had been deceived in the dark of Moria, but her spirit could not take yet another loss, should Gandalf prove to be but a creation of her exhausted mind. He smiled at her, the familiar wrinkles between his bushy eyebrows creasing as she felt tears well up in her eyes, threatening to spill over as he reached out a hand to her.

He was somehow different though, as she looked up at his form, blurred by the presence of hot, stinging tears. Gone were the bushy grey beard and tangled hair that was so familiar to her, the humble robes and twisted, earthen staff replaced. He was clad now in shining white, his beard as straight and neat as the luminous hair that fell over his shoulders like a silken waterfall. He outstretched a hand to her, his eyes tender as they met her own.

"Mithrandir…?" She whispered hoarsely, trembling furiously. She knew at once that he had somehow grown in power since their last meeting as his hand brushed her fingertips, sending a wave of energy through her. "You…you fell."

"And thus I have returned, Amera, to fulfill my duty." He murmured to her as he slowly helped her to her feet, wrapping his arms around her as she swayed. She could not take her eyes from him, still afraid that any moment he might disappear and leave her alone in the depths of the forest.

She whispered suddenly as she remembered her friends, her voice cracking slightly, "What of Merry and Pippin? Have you seen them?"

He smiled softly at his and his familiar chuckle reassured her that it was indeed Gandalf that stood before her, though perhaps a different from of the wizard she had once known so well. "They are safe, Amera, you need not worry. They are in the care of an old friend of mine, in fact, one that I should think would like to meet you when given the chance."

A thousand questions burned her tongue as she stammered to pick just one as they flooded her mind, a plethora of things that need to be addressed and discussed all at once. Finally, she coughed out, "Frodo has gone to Mordor, Gandalf. Merry and Pippin told me they saw him escape."

Gandalf nodded at this, a strange look appearing in his eyes as the shadow of a smile appeared. "So I had guessed, though my heart grows lighter to know it for certain."

"Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli had been following the Uruk-Hai, I think, though I know not what has become of them since the Rohirrim charged our camp."

"I should think we will find them soon enough, Amera." He gave a supportive nod of his head and she watched him glance over her, concern appearing in his eyes. "Are you alright?"

She gave a faint smile and brushed her filthy hair back behind an ear, shrugging slightly as she tentatively retrieved her sword and upon the distinct lack of burning, resheathed it. "I have been better, though I am slowly but surely healing." He looked unconvinced and she widened her smile slightly, "I'll be fine, Gandalf. Nothing a bit of food and a quick scrub cannot fix."

"Merry and Pippin were absolutely wrought with worry about you, in case you wished to know, when I came upon them." Gandalf smiled at her, "As was another."

"And both are well, you said? Safe? Unharmed?"

"Indeed. I should think they are now safer than many in these lands."

She sighed with relief, closing her eyes in calm, but opened them a moment later as she looked to him once more. Her words were soft, almost cautious, as she inquired with but a whisper, "How is this possible, Gandalf?"

He strode forward and gently rested a hand against her shoulder, looking deep into her wide eyes as he whispered, "Once I told you that you had received a second chance, my dear Amera, to help sway the course of this world towards the light. And," He smiled comfortingly, "just as you, this is my second chance."

Amera bit her lip for a moment as she stared up at him for a moment, taking in the new form of her old friend, then gave into her emotions and wrapped her arms around him tightly. He blinked for a moment, freezing in surprise as she pressed her head against his chest and began to quietly sob with utter joy, but then chuckled and held her close as he kissed the top of her forehead warmly. Whispering to her, he continued, "I have missed you very much, Amera."

"She was your mentor, wasn't she, Gandalf?" Amera looked up, smiling as pure tears cleansed her filthy face. He perked a brow, so she continued, "Nienna. She…she spoke to me."

Gandalf smiled, his eyes distant for a moment as he nodded and quietly responded, "Yes, I walked with her long ago and took heed of what lessons she bestowed upon me."

"She created me."

"I know."

Amera blinked, tilting her head slightly. "You knew all along, didn't you?"

Gandalf smiled at her in that way only he was capable of, revealing nothing and so much all at once as he calmly stated, "The past is best discovered through ourselves, Amera, it was not my place to speak to you of such."

She nodded slowly, recognizing the wisdom in his words, but as she went to ask more was silenced as he held a hand, his eyes glittering mischievously as he laughed, "We will have time to discuss things further, but much has yet to be done." Amera nodded and fell silent as he continued, pointing towards the depths of the forest, "To the east lies a small glade, where you will find water with which to cleanse and refresh yourself. Wait for me there, Amera."

Amera wanted to question him further, but instead nodded and brushed off her hauberk , her fingers weaving through her knotted hair as she pulled it over her ears. She turned to go, but looked over her shoulder as he smiled at her, resisting a wide grin as he stated mysteriously, "There waits for you someone I should think you'd be glad to see."

She blinked in confusion and tried to ask further, but Gandalf had already retreated into the shadow of the woods. She sighed and shrugged, her eyes growing heavy as the promise of water encouraged her tired feet to carry her onwards into the forest. The moonlight guided her path as she walked, no longer afraid of the twisted trees that rose so high above her, of the stale air and resounding silence, for Gandalf had somehow returned to them. Somehow, hope had been restored.

And so it was that a few minutes she came unto the small glade, her eyes widening with joy as she did indeed spy what appeared to be a sort of miniature lake, fed by a tiny waterfall and stream. The glistening cool of the water look so inviting, so refreshing that the thought of a bath threatened to overthrow all other thoughts, but she carefully glanced around as she remembered Gandalf's words. Narrowing her eyes, she perked a brow as she was unable to make out anything but shadows and starlight.

Amera paused as she noticed something, blinking as her eyes strained to make out a form that she spied beneath one of the great trees. She carefully rested her hand on the grip of her blade as she cautiously stepped forward, refocusing her vision slowly as she struggled to identity whatever it was. It was so dark she was unable to make out anything but its outline, its features hidden from her as she tentatively approached. However, the moon then passed from behind a cloud and its light gently fell through the thick leaves above her head, making its way past the gnarled branches to illuminate the figure resting so gently amongst the ancient roots.

She gasped, her eyes wide as her mouth fell open and choked sob escaped her lips as she fell to her knees. Her sword slipped from her hand and bounced against the soft earth just once before falling still. She stared ahead in utter disbelief, for it could not be. _It could not be._ Her chest rose and fell as tears began to stream down her face, her mind utterly blank save for one name while her hands shook by her sides as the moonlight revealed what had been lost to her.

For there, sleeping peacefully in the pale light, was Boromir.


	6. A Small, Great Happiness

OOC: Here's a lovely long chapter for all of you! As always, I sincerely hope you're enjoying the story thus far and feel encouraged to leave reviews by the time you're done scrolling!

He was partially woken by a strange noise, shifting in his sleep as he decided it was yet another one of the strange noises that occasionally emerged from the shadowed depths of the forest. He pulled his cloak tightly around him as the midnight breeze tickled him, nuzzling his head into the soft earth as he tried to return to sleep. However, the noise repeated itself once more and he opened his slowly, straining to determine its source.

It had sounded slightly choked, whatever it was, almost like a sob. He lay still as he listened closely, steadily growing more and more awake as his hand slipped to the hilt of his sword. Fangorn made him incredibly uneasy, for although Gandalf had assured him he was safe, Boromir was never unable to escape the feeling that he was being watched constantly, as if the forest itself was looking over him, evaluating its visitor. Over the past two days, he had grown steadily more accustomed to the moans and whispers of Fangorn, but was unable to resist the shivers that traveled up his spine.

But this noise, whatever is was, was different. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand as he yawned, running a hand through his messied hair as he carefully sat up. Wincing slightly as his wounds briefly burned with pain at the motion, he slowly began to search the little glade for the source of the soft noises. The moonlight shone directly into his eyes and he blinked in momentary confusion, then rose to his feet as he took a few cautious steps forward while his eyes adjusted to the hazy, dark forms that surrounded him.

Yet there was something after all, yes, something small just at the edge of the tree line. He tilted his head as he tentatively walked towards it, stopping as he realized it was a figure resting on its knees. Boromir then withdrew his sword, holding it at the ready as he strode forward and confidently stated, for he could not show fear in a situation such as this, "Show yourself!"

The clouds far above his head, hidden beneath the thick canopy of ancient leaves, then shifted and moonlight poured down upon the stranger like water, flowing softly and elegantly as he was illuminated. But it was not a man, he realized with a choked sob as his sword fell from his hand in shock, staggering back in absolute disbelief as he found himself staring into the pale, flickering eyes of Amera.

She stared at him with wide eyes that brimmed with tears as her bruised lips silently whispered his name, her frail shoulders shaking violently beneath matted hair. She looked fresh from battle as his eyes traveled over her stained hauberk and crimson hands, splatters of blood dotting her fair face like freckles as they stared at each other. He wanted to call out to her, to say her name, to let her know that he loathed himself for hurting her, for disappointing and that he wept for her. But it could not be her, for he had watched her die, he reminded himself as he struggled to repress the tears that threatened to appear in his eyes.

Amera had died at Amon Hen and he had seen it, had watched helplessly as she had taken an arrow no doubt meant for him, had her slender legs had twitched as thick fingers had tightened around her throat…and how still she had lain amongst the golden leaves as they were slowly stained with her blood. Even now as he stared at her, he hated his heart for soaring with hope, for it was not possible. What was before him was nothing more than a trick of the mind, a creation of this accursed forest. He turned away, closing his eyes as he took a ragged breath, for he could not lose her again. Not a second time.

"Boromir?" Her soft, lilting voice whispered to him, a tremor of emotion rippling through it but he turned his head, biting his lip roughly as he waited for the apparition to disappear, to free him from this haunting. "Boromir, please…please, look at me." Her voice cracked in its desperation, filled with terror to match his own as his heart beat wildly beneath his broad chest.

Boromir cursed himself as he turned, swallowing hard as a tear escaped his proud eyes, for he knew that to look upon her would break his heart anew and he would be rife with grief once more. But still he turned, for he needed her, even if just a glimpse of her stormy eyes and pale lips, because he loved her. He whispered her name as he stared at her, her legs trembling like those of a newborn fawn as she struggled to rise, and her gaze met his once more.

And he knew then, deep within himself in that unnamed place, that Amera had been returned to him.

He ran to her and her to him.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Amera wept openly as she wrapped her arms around his neck, running her fingers over his face and shoulders as she repeated his name. A hundred questions stirred within her but she cared nothing for them, for all that mattered now was that somehow, Boromir lived. He laughed as his hands moved through her tangled hair, pulling it back from her face as he rubbed his face against her own. She rejoiced at the familiar feeling of his beard as it tickled her and the strong arch of his nose as it brushed her cheek. He murmured her name in disbelief as his strong hands wrapped around her, drawing her close as his chest heaved with emotion.

She rested a hand carefully against his chest and brushed her fingers over where the arrows had entered him, now gone. Her fingers trembled as she stroked just above his heart, searching for some sign of that which should have been his ending. She shook her head in disbelief, unable to form words as her breath as stolen from her. He then took her small hand in his and his calloused fingers closed around her own. Amera looked up, her heart soaring as a small smile crossed his proud face and his piercing eyes shone, the wind stirring his copper hair as he looked to her.

He kissed her deeply and tenderly, his thumb brushing the delicate arch of her jaw as she laughed and tasted her tears on their lips. She breathlessly whispered, "I love you," over and over again, weeping in joy as she was given the chance to state that which she had needed to for so long. Boromir deepened the kiss with reckless abandon at this and she swayed slightly as her legs trembled from exhaustion and the rush of emotions souring through her. Before she could fall, his arms shifted to beneath her knees and he held her in his muscled arms, just as he had so very long ago in Moria, and as he carried her she imagined that she could feel his heart beating; steady, proud in tune with her own as their lips never broke.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

As their furious kisses had subsided, Amera had grown immensely self-conscious about her weathered appearance, though in honesty he cared not, for he had grown accustomed to see her pale face smudged with dirt, her hair unkempt and her robes weathered. She had laughed and begged him to let her go, even as he had planted kisses across her cheek and neck, her eyes shining as she insisted upon bathing immediately. Boromir had rolled his eyes and let her go as he retreated to his resting place beneath the great oak, resting his arms behind his head. He closed his eyes in absolute comfort as she bathed in the little pool before him, smiling softly as the gentle sounds of splashing lulled him nearly to sleep. Still, his curiosity and desire tempted him to briefly open his eyes as he looked to her and watched her move beneath his lashes.

She slid through the dark water as if at one with it, traces of blood and grime melting away as she shimmered in the moonlight. Her dark hair slid over her shoulders and he traced the arch of her collarbones and shoulder blades with his eyes tenderly, her scars raw and rough against her pale skin. Amera was so profoundly inhuman in her grace, all at once so different from the blood stained warrior that had stared at him with hope-filled eyes but a few short minutes ago. She was so very strange, he smiled as the water rippled as she soared beneath it, trapped between fae and feral.

Boromir quickly closed his eyes as she emerged once more, listening to the peaceful rippling of water as she stepped from the pool. He bit the corner of his lip to resist a laugh as he heard her curse beneath her breath, more than likely stumbling just as she had the first time he had come across her bathing. Her footsteps were gentle as she padded towards him and, upon the touch of her small hand, he opened his eyes and turned to her as she laid beside him. She was dressed in a loose, flowing shirt and leggings, her feet bare as they pointed towards her hauberk and leather that rested beside the pool. Her wet hair was plastered around her face as she grinned, the beginnings of waves appearing as it slowly dried. A sliver of purple remained above her right eye, though her eyes flickered with that strange, luminous intensity that had always captivated him.

Amera then rested her head upon his chest delicately and curled her slender form against him, resting a hand across his torso as she shifted her gaze to look at him. He met her with a smile as he stroked his thumb along her hand as he rested his own above it, grinning as she whispered, "How is this possible, Boromir? You…you _died_."

"And so I should have, but by some strange, soft grace I did not."

"….Speak of your tale first and I then shall of mine."

He nodded, closing his eyes as he thought back to Amon Hen and of the strange, sweet rain that had poured from the grey sky.

OOOOOOOOOOOO

The sweet rain had warmed his aching body, relieving him of the agony that made each breath torturous, stealing his very breath from him as he had given into the darkness that called out him. He knew nothing but the gentle caress of the raindrops as they slid along his pale skin, each seeming a brief brush of Amera's lips, so very cool and soft to him. His chest slowly rose and fell beneath the great weight of the twin arrows that had plunged deep within him as he knew his time had come. He had failed in his mission, had forsaken the bonds of Fellowship in his greed and lust for power.

As Boromir slowly slipped away beneath the grey sky and pouring rain, his auburn hair dark against his shoulders as he lay amongst the golden leaves, he last thought of the Fellowship he left behind, of Frodo, of his beloved Merry and Pippin and finally of Amera as he left his pain behind.

Yet it was not to be, for a soft voice spoke to him, beautiful and sorrowful in the darkness, "_It is not yet your time."_

_ I broke my vow to Frodo. I could not keep my promise to protect. I…I deserve as such._

The voice laughed softly, distinctly feminine as it reminded him of Amera and he thought of her quick, flashing grin as it called out to him gently, "_You hold the heart of one whom I cherish, son of Gondor, and for that I have intervened."_

_ I…I do not understand._

The power of the rain increased then and he gasped as he felt life slowly return to his limbs as the raindrops soaked him, their sweet warmth restored the light to his vision. _Who are you? _

The voice faded as he slowly blinking, groaning as he became aware once more of the fiery pain that shot through his chest with each breath, whispering, "_I am she that weeps."_

"Boromir!" He heard a distant cry, blinking in confusion and pain as the rain slowly stopped, leaving nothing but a sweet, earthy scent behind as its reminder. Swallowing hard as he choked down a sob of pain, he saw a blurry figure race towards him from across the crest of the hill, dark and distant as his vision swarmed. His eyes grew heavy and he closed them, focusing on the slow beat of his heart as the whispers of the soft voice echoed through his mind.

Boromir opened his eyes as he felt strong hands cradle his head and looked up to see Aragorn above him, his eyes wide with shock. He coughed and tasted blood on his tongue, his voice thick and raspy as he choked out in his desperation, "They've taken the little ones…Merry and Pippin," He gasped then in pain, coughing once more before finishing, "And Frodo, what of Frodo?"

"He has gone to Mordor with Sam. He is safe." Aragorn swallowed hard, he saw, and his eyes lingered over the arrows that pierced his chest. "And Amera," Boromir bit his lip, trembling as he whispered, "Amera is dead."

Aragorn froze at this, his mouth opening slightly in disbelief as Boromir continued, his voice cracking, "Her body lies up the hill."

The ranger stared at him, shaking his head slowly as he murmured, "I saw no body, Boromir, only blood."

He opened his mouth to reply, but the darkness and pain around him grew too great once more, and he gave into it in his exhaustion.

OOOOOOOOOOOO

Boromir practically collapsed onto the soft forest floor, groaning with relief as his exhausted arms received a much needed rest from the day's rowing. Wincing at the motion, he removed his hauberk and shirt, reaching for the poultice Aragorn had made two days prior. He smeared the thick paste onto his fingers and bit his lip, closing his eyes as he prepared for the inevitable pain that accompanied the healing.

He cursed loudly, hissing as he struggled to rub the mixture into the two wounds that dotted his chest. Once finished, he blinked away the tears that had sprung up in his eyes and returned to the Anduin as he knelt to wash his hands, then moved to make sure the canoe was properly secured on the riverbank. Confident the gentle tide would not pull it away, he nodded and prepared a small fire, wrapping his cloak tightly around his shoulders as the stars slowly began to appear in the sky above him.

Boromir sighed as he absently chewed a piece of lembas, thinking of Aragorn, Gimli and the elf as they no doubt raced across the plains towards Merry and Pippin. He had awoken to find the arrows removed from his chest and the blinding pain had decreased, though movement was still nearly unbearable. Legolas had remarked that he was immensely lucky to be alive, to which Gimli had harrumphed an agreement as he looked over him. Aragorn had carefully dressed his wounds by the firelight and seemed in disbelief as Boromir's broad chest still yet rose and fell.

He had blinked back tears as the ranger had informed him that they could not find Amera's body, fury rising in him as he tried to block out the horrible images that sprung to his mind, of her fair, lifeless body in the hands of such beasts. But they had not the time to continue to search, for even now Merry and Pippin were held captive, taken as prisoners towards the dark spires of Orthanc. Boromir knew he was far too weak to continue with them, for he swayed even as he tried to stand, and had no hope of matching the necessary pace.

And so he had told the three to go forth without him and despite their reactionary anger, he saw that they too that it had to be so. He had said he would take one of the canoes and return to Lorien upstream, but was silent as Gimli had inquired as to where he would go after that. Legolas had given him a small pack of supplies and had given a brief nod of parting, while Gimli had given him a firm, decidedly masculine hug after awkwardly shifting his feet. Aragorn had pulled him aside and they spoke of what lay before them and of how their paths would cross once more. Boromir had rested his hand on the shoulder of his friend for a moment, lowering his gaze as he then knelt before his king, as he should have done long ago.

He sighed now as he curled up against the soft forest floor and looked up at the stars, a thousand images floating through his mind as he breathed in the cool night air, his hair tickling his neck as it was gently stirred. He grew ever closer to Lorien, that was true, but his progress was frustratingly slow, for it was no easy task to paddle against the flow of the Anduin in his weakened state. Still, he thought with a sinking heart, as he lay beneath the moonlight Merry and Pippin were tormented at the hands of their captors and Frodo and Sam trekked over rock and bog as they prepared for Mordor.

Boromir flinched once as he thought of Amera before he could help herself, cursing himself for conjuring up the pale light of her eyes as he looked to the night sky, biting his lip as he closed himself off from all thoughts of her, for the grief was yet too great. Still, as he closed his eyes and gave into slumber, he dreamt of her standing on the shining walls of Minas Tirith, her dark hair swirling over pale shoulders as she looked down over that which he loved more than anything. His chest fell and rose with a renewed pace as he thought of the softness of her lips as they had captured his own, of the way her fingers had glided over his jaw and how her body had molded against his, each curve and angle moving against him as they had kissed.

He was suddenly awoken by a snap jab to his side, her eyes opening immediately as he instinctively drew his sword. He swiftly rose, prepared to defend him, but fell over rather lamely as the pain in his chest stole his breath and balance from him. He looked up angrily at the figure before him, but froze as the flickering firelight illuminated the being before him.

His sword fell from his hand as he stared, blinking furiously as he was convinced his wounds had created the image before him, for it was not possible. Gandalf, however, seemed rather unsurprised as he looked down at Boromir. A small smile crept over his face, familiar to Boromir yet different, from while it was certainly, somehow, the wizard that stood before him…he was not the same that had fallen into the dark of Moria. He opened his mouth, preparing stammer out the questions that suddenly arose within in, but was silenced by Gandalf, who calmly stated, "We have far too much to do, Boromir, for you to simply sit and stare like that.

Boromir blinked, then cautiously took the hand that was extended to him as Gandalf nodded, "We have a great many things that need to be seen to and I would have you by my side."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

They lay in silence save for the quiet beating of their chests as Amera quietly finished her version of the past few days. She had lied to him about the majority of what had been inflicted upon them for she had seen the guilt that welled up in his eyes as she had briefly mentioned their misery. She had listened to his own tale intently, swallowing tears as she remembered the soft words of Nienna and knew that by her grace, Boromir had been spared. Now, she looked to him as he bit his lip, pain evident in his eyes as he whispered, "Amera, I know that my mistakes cannot be undone nor can I hope to atone for what I did to you, but I swear," His fingers brushed her cheek and her heart fluttered, "I swear to you, I am so sorry. With all my heart, I am sorry."

She smiled faintly at this, touched by his great sincerity, and whispered in return as she moved aside a stray lock of hair that had fallen over his eyes, "I told you once before, Boromir, you are forgiven." He watched her in silence and she met his gaze, marveling inwardly at the strong curve of his cheekbones and the proud of definition of his jaw, of the arch of his nose and the laugh lines that would appear with his rare grins that were radiant enough to stir her heart. Finally, she laughed softly as she looked into his piercing green eyes, losing herself in the flecks of glimmering emerald.

"I love you, Boromir."

And they kissed deeply beneath the thick leaves above their heads, illuminated by the pale trails of moonlight that gently fell upon them, each amazed by the strange grace that had been shown unto them and had brought them together once more, their hearts stirred by this small, great happiness that shone brightly in a world of shadows.


	7. The Meeting of Earth and Water

Amera's jaw dropped, her eyes widening in absolute disbelief as she craned her neck to look up at the mighty ent that towered above her. She and Boromir had heard his thudding footsteps for a few minutes now, growing louder and louder as he drew closer. Gandalf had come earlier that morning and had briefly stated that Amera would be receiving a visit from a very old friend and wait to try and be patient, because he might take a while, but before either of them could question further, he had disappeared back into the forest. Still, nothing could have prepared her for the shock that followed the sighting of what appeared to be an enormous pair of…_legs_ making their way through the dark forest ahead of the clearing.

Her sight was more precise than Boromir's and while he had initially given her a skeptical glance as she panicked, stammering about trees and roots and these creatures called _ents_ that she rather remembered reading about very long ago, but could not place them to be myth or reality. However, he too had frozen as the first initial thump echoed through the silent forest and given her a look of absolute confusion. Having no choice but to simply wait, the footsteps growing louder and louder with each passing moment, their hands had rested just beside their swords, ever ready. Boromir had sensed her fear and had briefly wrapped his fingers around her own, squeezing gently in the silence, and in return Amera's courage was softly bolstered as they waited for the creature to approach.

Boromir had moved to run forward as he spied the small forms of Merry and Pippin balanced on the ent's shoulders, convinced of their danger, but Amera had held him back as she realized that they appeared to rather be enjoying their placement as they frantically waved and called out to her. Her heart swelled with joy to see them safe and sound, but was unable to focus on anything besides the creature before her. As it lowered Merry and Pippin gently to the ground, each cradled in one of its twisted hands, she stared at its strange feet, which were composed of roots that seemed to seep into the ground. Its legs were like as thick as the trunks of the trees that surrounded them and its mossy, gnarled beard stretched down the length of its strong torso as she looked him over in a mixture of fright and amazement.

She then looked into its eyes and lost itself in the strange flecks that seemed to shimmer with a life of their own as the morning light illuminated them, ancient hues of earth and gold and water flickering as they met her own. "Hrooooom, what have we here?" Amera staggered back, bumping in Boromir as the creature spoke to her, tilting its head slightly as it looked over her. Its voice was deep and powerful, like distant rumbling thunder, and as she glanced to Boromir, he appeared equally amazed as he blankly stared, mouth slightly open.

"Boromir!" She blinked as the hobbits dashed towards him, laughing with joy as they tackled him in disbelief. He laughed loudly, hugging them tightly as they hurled questions towards him, their eyes wide as he ruffled their hair and grinned. She turned back to Treebeard and swallowed hard, lowering her gaze as she did her very best to sound confident, thought rather stammered, "I thank you for aiding my friends…um, _sir_?" The statement turned into a question and she cringed inwardly, quickly doing her best to make up for it by stating, "I owe you for the kindness you have shown unto them."

She bit her lip in fear as a deep rumbling echoing through the small glade, drowning out the gleeful cries of the hobbits and Boromir behind her, but she slowly looking up as she realized that it was, in fact, laughter. The ent's deep eyes flickered with amusement as he knelt over, his face all at once close to her own as he examined her in return. "I shall assume that you do not remember me, little one?" His voice so slow and calm that each syllable seemed a statement in itself and she found herself smiling despite her fear as she shook her head, softly replying, "I fear I do not…," She trailed off, once more unable to think of a proper title with which to address him.

"I suppose that is alright, for Gandalf told me that you were having some difficulty recalling things and though I cannot understand why," He nodded slowly, "I must remember that while you are old, you are not yet as old as I am."

So this was the old friend Gandalf had spoken of, she reminded herself, though she was convinced that she would have remembered the creature despite her long slumber. It chuckled quietly as it recognized her confusion, calmly replying, "You may call me Treebeard, for that is shortest of my many names in your tongue and while it is not my favorite," His broad, leafy shoulders shrugged, "It will do."

"Then I thank you, Treebeard, for aiding Merry and Pippin."

"Huuum, you need not thank me, Aeliniel, for they keep me young and fresh, renewed as I have not been for ages."

"I ask you forgive my asking, but Gandalf said that you were an old friend, and I fear I cannot recall our last meeting."

"I should think not!" He laughed heartily at this and she subtlety dodged the assorted bits of lichen that fell from his beard as it swayed. "You were resting or, _sleeping _ as I suppose you might call it." Her eyes widened as he continued, his deep voice growing almost affectionate as he addressed her, "I was calmly strolling the depths of the forest and speaking to my friends, though some did not speak back, and I nearly trampled you! There was no orc mischief at that time," His eyes glowed with a fierce anger for a brief moment, then faded, "So I picked you up and had a good look at you, little one. Hrooooom, for much to my surprise, you were not of the firstborn, despite your great age, so I simply found a better, safer place for you to rest and placed you there."

OOOOOOOOOOOO

"Watch now, Pippin," Boromir murmured to him, ruffling his hair affectionately once more as they turned to watch the conversation between Amera and Treebeard. It was almost comical, he decided, the way her soft, lilting voice struggled to meet the deep, thunderous baritone of Treebeard's. "Before you stands the meeting of two creatures so very ancient, that they are naught but legends," Boromir smiled softly and continued, "The meeting of water and earth itself."

"Wouldn't it be rather odd if she looked like him?" Pippin noted, struggling to mentally image a more _watery_ sort of Amera, "I mean, if she looked as old as Treebeard does?"

Boromir shrugged from beside him, clearly entertained by the notion, but blinked as Merry slyly quipped, "And I bet you're glad that isn't the case, aren't you, Boromir?"

He shifted, perking a brow as he calmly replied, "I am grateful that she is not burdened physically by her age, if that's what you mean."

Merry snorted at this, smiling knowingly in return as Boromir grew increasingly uncomfortable beneath his gaze. Pippin gave his best friend an odd look, questioning, "What are you going on about, Merry?"

"Oh come on, Pip, you've surely figured it out by now." Pippin stared blankly in return as Boromir suddenly took an immense interest in examining his boots. Merry rolled his eyes, speaking as if stating the utmost obvious, "Boromir fancies Amera, don't you, Boromir?"

Boromir mumbled something incoherent as he shifted slightly, running a hand through his hair awkwardly. Merry sighed once more and gave the warrior a quick pat, "It's alright, Amera told me she doesn't think you're all that bad, so you don't need to worry about admitting it."

Boromir's proud, strong voice lowered to barely a murmur as he softly acknowledged, his eyes shining "For better or for worse, I…I do love her."

Pippin blinked in surprise, then grinned widely as he nudged Merry, "Would you look at that! I for one did not see it coming, did you, Merry?" He took great pleasure in watching Boromir blush ever so slightly, desperately attempting to maintain his noble composure as Merry smirked at him, stating "Truth be told, I rather assumed it'd be her and Legolas, if anyone, but I'm quite pleased to see its not!"

However, the teasing immediately ended as Amera cast a confused glance over her shoulder to them and they each quickly, and poorly, pretended to examine the depths forest that surrounded them.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

_Amera quietly walked through the city, enjoying the familiar sounds of the lake gently lapping against the marble walls and the distant bird-song from the gardens two levels above her. Annuminas seemed to glow, she smiled faintly to herself, as the pale moonlight reflected its shining streets and walls. She strolled through the empty marketplace, absently brushing her slender fingers against the cold stone walls._ _However, she paused, growing silent as she spied flickering shadows from the windows of the treasury in the distance, which were illuminated against the dark of the night by a torch from within. A torch that she had not lit._

_ Amera began to run, flying through the empty streets, as her heart beating wildly with fear as she flung open the great stone door that separated her from the gold and jewels within. She froze as her eyes adjusted to the dim, flickering light that fell upon the ancient vases, crowns and statues she had meticulously organized that now lay carelessly scattered on the floor. Three, exceptionally filthy men stared back at her, clutching the assorted treasures of Arthedain tightly in their stained hands. Her eyes traveled to the knapsacks that rested at the their feet and to the edges of goblets that emerged from the folds. _

She attempted a small smile as her heart fluttered with pity, taking notice of the holes and patches that held together their rags and the knotted hair that hung over their blank faces. She came to the conclusion that they stole out of need, for their need was no doubt great. "If you have need of shelter or supplies, friends, I will do what I can to help you." She nodded gently, "You need not visit Annuminas in the shadows, for once this city was a beacon of light to all men."

One of the men blinked and dropped a vase from its arms as he stood, looking her over in a way that made her feel decidedly uncomfortable. She choked back a small cry as the beautiful vessel was shattered and the delicate pieces of porcelain, so carefully painted with lines of shimmering crimson and gold, were scattered underfoot. A strange grin crossed the man's face as he glanced to his companions, who set down what lay in their arms, and gathered beside him to stare at Amera. "They always said this place was haunted, didn't they, Wald?"

The one she assumed to be Wald nodded slowly and she took a slow step back as their leader crept closer. He tilted his head as he scanned her unashamedly, murmuring, "Didn't expect a ghost to look quite like this, though. You, uh, you all alone then?"

She took another step back, murmuring cautiously, "I am the guardian of Annuminas, if that is what you ask."

"You ever get lonely, love, all by yourself in this empty ruins?"

Amera realized at that instant that she was in a place that she certainly should not be, the hungry eyes of the filthy bandits tearing through her, and turned swiftly to open the stone door and flee, but screamed as she found herself running to the arms of an enormous man. He grinned wickedly in the dying light and she fought him as best she could, but his strong arms crushed the air from her as they wrapped around her ribs and lifted her into the air. She tried to scream, though she knew no one would hear, but thick fingers closed over her mouth, muffling her desperate cries as she was thrown to the floor.

Tears sprung to her eyes as she screamed helplessly, her cries choking her as her lungs pleaded for oxygen. She thrashed wildly against the hands that held her down and fingernails that scratched and tore her delicate skin. The tallest of the men leered at her as he knelt before her, pulling back stubbled lips to reveal decaying teeth as he whispered, "Pretty little thing, aren't you?" He stretched out a hand, slowly stroking down her neck, and she tasted bile as he greedily grasped her breast. She thrashed once more, her eyes wild with fury and fear, and the man laughed as he withdrew his hands to undo his belt.

Amera knew what was going to happen then, as his arousal became obvious to her, and a deep, black fear coursed through her as her heartbeat sprinted beneath her heaving chest. He leaned over her and she looked into his dark eyes, shining with lust, and she felt adrenaline soar through her, ebbing and flowing like the waves of Evendim from which she was born. Amera bit down hard on the fingers that trapped her mouth and tasted blood as her teeth cut into flesh, her eyes widening as she spied a rusted dagger tied to the waist of the bandit that rested above her.

She wretched herself from the iron grip of the man behind her as he cried out in rage and lifted his hands for but a moment. Without thinking, snatched the dagger and sliced it through the air above her blindly, then screamed as a torrent of hot, thick blood fell upon her. She heard a strange, terrible gurgling and opened her eyes with horror as the man clutched wildly at the gash that had appeared beneath his throat as he fell atop her. Amera pushed him away as fury and adrenaline powered her, turning to stab the dagger into the chest of the man that had held her down. She had but held a sword once, many years ago, and was surprised by the resistance that met her blade as it passed through skin, muscle and bone.

A hand tore at her from behind and she felt the thin thread of her dress rip away from her shoulder. She held out the dagger and turned with inhuman speed, meeting the chest of one of the bandits, who roared and staggered back with rage. A clenched fist slammed into the side of her head and she gasped, swaying as stars appeared before her eyes, but struck out once more in desperation. There was a shriek of pain and she cut madly through the air again and again as the dagger flashed red, blind her in rage and terror.

The room was then silent, save for her ragged gasps as her chest heaved wildly. With wide eyes, she slowly looked at the four bodies that lay before her, their expressions glazed with terror and anger as they were so perfectly still. Blood slowly spilled from their wounds, pooling against the marble floor and spreading across the goblets, plates and treasures once so intricately organized and cared for, staining them with the crimson life of filthy bandits. She was still for but a moment longer, then doubled over as she vomited emptily, her throat and eyes stinging as what little food remained in her stomach emptied onto the floor. The dagger dropped from her hand and its metallic clang thundered through the silent room as it echoed off the high walls and vaulted ceilings.

With shaking hands, she pulled her hair back from her face and wiped the back of her hand across her mouth in shocked revulsion. It was then she first noticed the thick blood that covered her slender fingers and pooled beneath her fingernails. She staggered back, all at once realizing that **she **had been the force behind the horror that lay before her, unmoving and unseeing. As a choked sob escaped her throat, she became aware of the warmth of the blood that splattered her torn dress, sticky against her skin as it soaked through the pale fabric. She raised her hands to her face, staring at the stains as she sobbed emptily in horror and regret, unable to understand what she had done in only a matter of seconds and, most horrifying of all, with such little effort.

Amera turned then and fled into the night with reckless abandon, her small feet leaving behind bloodied prints as she ran.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Ow." Amera flinched as something smacked against her shoulder, awaking instantly from her dreams as she slowly opened a bleary eye and searched for the source of the rude awakening. She blinked and recoiled in surprise as she looked up into the face of Gandalf, who peered down at her as if standing over a sleeping person was the most normal practice one could enjoy. He gave her another quick tip with the base of his staff, which she lamely smacked away as she yawned, "Get up, Amera! We have a great many things to take care of and, unless I am mistaken, you do not even require sleep."

She rolled her eyes at this, stretching her arms up as she quietly retorted, "I may not need it, but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy it." Boromir grumbled from beside her and pulled his cloak over his head, which earned him, a less than gentle smack from Gandalf. "Get up, captain of Gondor!"

Amera ran a hand sleepily through her tangled hair as she suppressed another yawn, eyeing Gandalf cautiously as she quickly threw on her hauberk and boots. As she knelt and splashed some of the cool water of the small pool onto her face to freshen herself, she called out over her shoulder, "I don't suppose there's any chance you could inform me further of these great many things?" She turned back to him and brushed her robes off, "I've received several surprises from you in the past two days and know naught how many more I can take."

She blinked in surprise as he had moved from where she had last seen him, then sprinted to catch up with him as he made his way through the forest swiftly ahead. He gave her a quick nod as she slowed down upon reaching her side, Boromir just behind her as they left the peaceful glade behind. "Three hunters ran forth from Amon Hen, did they not?"

"They did." Boromir quietly stated from behind her and she recognized the shame in his voice, for she knew he was humiliated to have been left behind, though she knew it could not have been any other way.

Gandalf paused then, turning to give them a small smile. "And I should think it time that our friends meet those they thought left behind."

Amera grinned widely.


	8. The Plains of Rohan

"Yer supposed to be dead, lass!" Gimli looked up to Amera in absolute confusion, taking note of the few bruises that dotted her pale skin and the sheen of purple above her right eye, left by what had clearly once been a wicked black eye. Besides this, she looked the same as ever, flashing that strange, feral grin she occasionally revealed. She knelt and returned his hug warmly, laughing as she replied, "I am quite sorry to disappoint you, master dwarf, but by the grace of the Valar, I've still yet live on."

"You need to stop doin' that, ya know, getting yourself into those sorts of situations," He nodded firmly to her, "Your luck is bound to run out soon."

Her eyes flashed with mischief, "I assure you I shall do my very best, Gimli."

Gimli then watched as she rose, placing a hand over her heart and inclining her head towards Legolas as she muttered something he couldn't understand and truly had no interest in. Legolas returned the motion, a faint smile appearing as he calmly replied in the common tongue, "You must tell me further of your meeting with the forest lord, for great has been my desire to one day gaze upon such." She smiled politely and nodded once more, then grinned widely as she strolled towards Aragorn.

"My king."

He held her tightly, closing his eyes in what Gimli decided to be relief as he whispered something to her, pressing his lips affectionately against her dark curls as he released her. There was some sort of silent agreement that passed between them as their eyes met for a moment, but Gimli broke his gaze from them as approached Boromir, who silently watched the proceedings with a sort of tentative shyness. A faint smile crossed his strong features as he tilted his head towards Gimli, murmuring, "Well met, friend."

Gimli snorted at this, shaking his head as he gave him a firm embrace of the masculine sort, he decided. Such reunions warmed his heart, for the dwarf knew that such happiness, simple as it was, steadily grew rarer in times of war and strife. But yet, he decided with a distant smile, it was in such darkness that even the simplest light gleamed with a renewed beauty.

Gandalf then stepped forward and held a hand up for silence, a faint light emanating from him even in the afternoon light. They all grew silent as they turned to watch him as he slowly faced the widespread plains of Rohan that lay before them. Gimli looked out over them as well, almost uneasy as his eyes scanned the seemingly endless land that spread as far as one could see, golden grass rippling as the breeze swayed its sheathes. Such land was strange to him, the distance between earth and sky far too distant to ever be familiar to a dwarf, for his roof was marble and stone, not the pale blue sky filled with lazy, pale clouds that shimmered above the snowy peaks of distant mountains.

He blinked in surprise as Gandalf suddenly issued a high whistle that seemed to echo across the plains, rippling gently as it was carried by the breeze. Amera was silent beside him, he saw, her eyes distant as she too gazed out at the foreign lands that lay before them. Gimli stood silently, shifting as nothing happened. He peeked a glance at the wizard from the corner of his eye and slowly perked a brow, waiting for some sort of result.

And lo and behold, there appeared a great white stallion, its luminescence stark against the copper fields as it galloped freely across the plains. Gimli gasped quietly and lowering his head in respect as the magnificent steed approached, for though he was no horse lord, he nonetheless knew that the creature before him was as noble as any king and as wise as any wizard in its majesty. It slowed to a trot and reached its nose out to gentle rub against Gandalf's outstretched; a greeting between old friends. "One of the Mearas…" Legolas whispered from beside him, his voice as soft with reverence as his eyes were wide. Gimli hadn't any sort of idea what that was, but he decided he rather liked the sound of his as he looked over the beautiful steed, which whinnying a gentle greeting as Gandalf slowly stroked its mane.

He murmured, more to himself than his companions, "Shadowfax has ever been a steadfast companion to me," He smiled affectionately, "And an honor it is to have him by my side."

Gimli then realized something, coughing as delicately as any dwarf could to gather the attention of his companions, and spoke up, "Perhaps I've been the only one thinkin' ahead, but unless I'm somehow missing something, there's _six _of us and only three horses."

Gandalf looked over his shoulder and issued a small smile that lingered with mischief. "I should think that not a problem.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Put your hands around my _waist_, Gimli. Both of us will fall if you keep grasping my robes." Aragorn held back a grin as Amera sighed once more, clearly losing her patience as the dwarf seemed incredibly uncomfortable as behind her. It did make for a rather comical picture, a stout dwarf sharing a mount with a slender young lady, and both he and Boromir had difficulty keeping their laughter down as Gimli shifted repeatedly, staring at Amera's back warily.

While no one save Legolas, whose normally placid features seemed almost giddy at the prospect of riding with Gandalf and Shadowfax, was terribly thrilled with the current situation, Gimli had appeared nothing short of horrified when told he should ride with Amera. Both Aragorn and Boromir had been forced to turn away, lest they reveal their great amusement, as Gimli attempted to share the saddle with Amera yet still refrain from brushing up against her in any way, shape or form. She, however, had been less than entertained and began gnawing on her lip as she struggled to control her rising frustration. However, Aragorn noted they finally had seemed to settle themselves, though he was certain he detected a blush behind the dwarf's beard as he clutched Amera's waist tightly.

"Have you been to Meduseld, Aragorn?" Boromir quietly spoke up from behind him as he readied the reins in his hands. Aragorn briefly glanced over his shoulder and offered a small nod, his eyes growing distant as they looked over the rough, untamed land that stretched before him like an ocean. "Yes, once….long ago."

"We have not had dealings with Rohan for years." Boromir stated absently as he shifted in the saddle, adjusting himself before their travel would begin. "My people," He paused then, then gently restated, "_Our_ people have been too preoccupied with the stirrings of Mordor to fear the shadow of Isengard."

_Our people_. Aragorn did not reply to this as he gently nudged the mount's flanks with his heels as he urged it forward, rolling the word around in his mind as Gandalf turned to them. His hands were free, placed gently on the sides of Shadowfax's neck, for the lord of the Mearas would not take reins for it was by his free will that he carried the wizard and elf, Aragorn knew. Amera patted her own horse gently and leaned to brush her lips against its neck, while Gimli flinched nervously at the unexpected movement.

"Ride swiftly, for know that Saruman tightens the noose around these lands with each passing minute." Gandalf solemnly stated, turning his gaze to the path before them, "We must delay."

And so it was that a wizard, an elven prince, a lost king, a water spirit, a dwarf lord and a captain of Gondor rode forth across the plains of Rohan.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Was it Nienna, Gandalf?" Amera quietly murmured as she moved to stand beside him, treading silently across the rocky ground so as not to wake the rest of her companions. She pulled her cloak tightly around her shoulders as she sat beside him, breathing in the earthy, sweet scent of his pipe as he looked out over the endless dark of Rohan.

"Hm?" He perked a brow and turned to face her as she made herself comfortable beside him, curling her slender legs beneath her as her pale eyes flickered in the firelight.

"Was by Nienna's grace that you return to us, Gandalf?"

He smiled faintly, his eyes distant as his voice lowered to but a whisper that floated upon the cool, night air, "She, and others, pleaded for me, if that is what you ask, Amera."

Amera gave a small nod, biting in the corner of her lip for a moment as she looked out into the night. The pale light of the stars and moon shone down upon the ragged peaks in the distance, their snowy caps glistening against the harsh stone of their bases. Soft waves rippled across the fields, dotted with rocky outcrops that sprung up without rhyme or reason. It was beautiful and foreign to her, for Evendim was crested with hills and valleys, lakes and streams twisting their ways beneath the fragrant pines and willows that now were at one with the ruins of the once prosperous kingdom.

She looked back to him then and whispered, "What was it like?" He tilted his head to her, drawing deeply from his pipe as she softly elaborated, looking to her feet. "What was it like to die?"

He slowly raised a brow, watching her from the corner of his eye, "Do you fear death, Amera?"

An immediate response. "No." She then shifted slightly, pulling her cloak up to her chin as she quietly stated, "I just want to know what happens to me if I die," Amera looked to him, her great age revealed briefly in her eyes, "I am not of flesh and blood, Mithrandir, nor are you, though we have both chosen to cloak ourselves beneath such"

He puffed contentedly in agreement and she looked away, back to the land before her as she whispered, "What is my ending to be, then? Do I return from whence I came? To swirl thoughtlessly and eternally through the blue of Evendim?"

"Why such heavy questions as these, Amera?"

She sighed, rubbing her forehead with the back of her hand and Gandalf could see the exhaustion in her face as she let slip her mask, murmuring, "Galadriel said that if we should," She paused, "If we should fail in our quest, that I will never find peace, that my spirit will forever be tortured until the ending of the world."

"And yet she told me you rejected her offer to escape this potential fate."

"I...I would not abandon the Free Peoples are all these years."

"You have always had a choice, you know."

"A choice of what?" She tilted her head to him in curiosity.

He turned to her and she recognized the familiar glimmer of wisdom in his blue eyes, though his form had so greatly changed. "Just as Saruman, you could have chosen to side with that which thirsts for power, for control and domination. And this path would certainly have been easier, make no mistake of that. And even now, my dear Amera, that choice lies before you. But," He then let out a small smoke ring, smiling to her as he watched it disappear into the night, "You have instead allied yourself with the weak and the fearful, to bring hope instead of sorrow, though you have suffered for it."

She looked down at her hands and ran her thumbs over her fingers, as if staring at some invisible stain as she whispered, "I was born of mercy and sorrow, old friend, of tears and of hope." She looked to him. "Is it not fitting that my life has reflected such?"

Gandalf grew silent then, drawing deeply from his pipe as the breeze stirred his silver hair around his shoulders as he too looked up at the glittering stars and pale clouds that would briefly cloak them, only to be pulled away by the cool breeze a breath later. "It was dark, so very dark," Amera was silent as she watched him, his eyes growing distant as he slowly recalled, "And I was burnt with both fire and ice, my body crying out for relief from such pain as the body of my empty lay beneath me on the icy peak of Zirak-zigil. I collapsed and was granted this leave, this brief escape from such pain that I thought myself unable to endure."

He closed his eyes then, a faint smile appearing on his lips and Amera reached out without thinking, placing her slender hand over his as he murmured, "The ages of the world passed before me in but a moment as the very light of the stars pierced my soul, illuminating all that which has been or shall come to be. It was an eternity and a blink of the eye, a heartbeat and a slumber from which I did not think I should wake." He sighed then in what was almost ecstasy, looking so utterly and profoundly peaceful that Amera wished her friend to never stir as to break the spell cast over him by such recollections. "And then, all at once, life flowed through me, burning and chilling me with its force as I regained that which I had lost. I knew then, without a doubt," He opened his eyes to smile at her, wrinkles appearing in the corners of his wide eyes, "That my time on this Middle-earth had not yet come to a close, for my work is not yet completed."

"I…I don't understand, Gandalf." Amera whispered to him.

"Sometimes, Amera, good can intervene." He nodded warmly to her, his eyes affectionate. "Sometimes what should be bends its will to what is right." He squeezed her hand gently and she closed her eyes, gasping slightly as she felt a current of energy, of light suddenly rush through her tired body, just as once Nienna had healed her broken spirit in that dark place.

She opened her eyes, now filled with tears at that beauty of that which she had just seen, had experienced and felt at the core of her spirit. Gandalf looked knowingly at her and her heart swelled with affection for him, for this hope that had been restored by the grace of the Valar, sent to Middle-earth in its time of utmost need.

Amera slowly rose as Gandalf returned to puffing on his pipe, blinking once as the wizard murmured, "Boromir looks rather cold, Amera, perhaps you might share your cloak with him?" She raised both brows in surprise, blushing as he responded with a wink so brief she fancied that she had imagined it. She smiled faintly and murmured, "Are you not even surprised, Gandalf?"

"At what? That a headstrong, fiery young woman with an absolute disrespect for authority and an infuriatingly proud, stubborn captain of Gondor unequalled in his bravery should find themselves drawn to each other in times such as these?"

"Well, that rather answered my question." She retreated from beside him and curled up beside the strong body of Boromir, closing her eyes as he shifted sleepily and draped an arm over her shoulders. And so it was that Amera was lulled to sleep by the quiet chuckles of Gandalf the White and the steady breath of the one whom she loved.


	9. The Gates of Meduseld

_Boromir waved his sleeve across his brow as he sighed, his shoulders slumping with the energy necessary to power the canoe further upstream. He suspected he had a fever, judging by the sudden flashes of heat that burned him from the inside out, followed by periods of such icy chill that he would have begged for but a fire to warm himself beside. His chest ached, each breath a struggle as his wounds seem to weigh down his very lungs. As the heat of the afternoon sun bore down upon him, he found himself slipping between dreams and reality, though his arms never ceased to paddle onwards towards Lorien._

"Shhh, little brother, you must keep quiet."

"But Mother's gone, Boromir!"

"….I…I know, Faramir, but you must understand, Father's grief is great, as well."

"Is he angry with us?"

"Shhh, don't say such things, Faramir."

"But…but who's to take care of us now? Father's always too busy."

"I…I will take care of us, little brother. I swear it."

_Boromir gave into his exhaustion then, weighed down by the grief of his memories as he slumped to the side and fell into the Anduin. As his strong body sank into the cool water, he smiled, for it was refreshing and cool to his tired limbs. He imagined Amera's slender arms wrapping around him as the river pulled him down, her gentle hands caressing his body as her lips brushed against his revealed skin. His heart had so greatly ached for her the past two days that he had been forced to shut her out of his mind completely, lest he give into his uncontrollable grief. And now, he closed his eyes in comfort, for she swirled around him with inhuman grace while her soft, cool lips stroked his skin as she held him._

But that was not his Amera, this soft, sensual creature that even now seduced him in his exhaustion. No, his was the Amera of the flashing, feral grin and dirtied face, the Dagorwen who had fought beside his ancestors and had kissed him with such utmost, breathtaking fierceness. He loved the Amera of fire and ice.

_ Boromir suddenly realized he was drowning and opened his eyes, thrashing wildly as the weight of his heavy robes and boots pulled him further and further away from the flickering light that danced above him. His chest burned as he struggled to propel himself to the surface, his arms aching with the effort as his lungs begged for oxygen. The current seemed faster than ever as he was pulled downstream, but he gasped for air as he burst forth to the surface._

_ Choking now, he dragged himself to the pebbled shore and vomited what water had sunk into his lungs with heaving shoulders. He collapsed in absolute exhaustion and turned his head to the side as he laid, seeing that his canoe had steered off course and had come to rest on the bank a hundred feet from his current location. Sighing with relief, he closed his eyes and began to steady his breath, but froze as he felt a strange absence of weight by his side. _

_ He felt a sudden bolt of fear as his hand traveled to his hip and did not feel the Horn of Gondor beneath his hand. His eyes widened and he immediately rose, his eyes desperately scanning the shore as he searched for that which meant so much to both him and his heritage. Upon seeing no sign of it, he dove back into the water, slipping beneath the cool surface once again. Despite the pain that surged through him, he swam with reckless abandon for he could not lose something so precious. He searched and searched, his lungs burning as he raced towards the surface to gasp in breath before diving to the riverbed once more. As his vision grew blurry and limbs grew heavy, he knew he could no longer continue for he would soon pass out, and collapsed on the shore. He had lost an heirloom of Gondor, a proud icon of his lineage, and now, somewhere beneath the cool waters, it floated slowly towards an end he could not see._

OOOOOOOOOOO

Boromir slowly opened his eyes and blinked away the imagery of his dream as the wind stirred his auburn hair. The steady rhythm of the horse's steady pace had lulled him to sleep what appeared to be hours ago, as he narrowed his eyes and looked towards the afternoon sun. He had slumped against the ranger before him in his slumber and hoped he had not minded, but decided not to ask as he looked out over the plains before them.

He strained his memory to recall what he could of Rohan, though the result was embarrassingly sparse. He knew of the horse lords, as did any common child in Minas Tirith, and of Meduseld, the golden hall from which the Eorlingas ruled over their realm. However, any details beyond such obvious knowledge was lost to him, for Faramir had always been the one interested in such things, he recalled with a smile. Faramir had always been the favorite of the tutors their father had procured to instruct them, for he was studious and curious; a combination that pleased them to no end. He, on the other hand, had been bored with all but the history of Gondor and the study of military tactics, favoring to imagine his quill was a dagger instead of immersing himself in elven lore like his younger brother.

And there, on the horizon, was an enormous hill that stood proud against the flat plains that surrounded it. Narrowing his eyes, Boromir was able to make out small buildings dotting the hillside and paths that led to its crest, on which lay Meduseld. They quickly approached the city gates and their horses slowed to a trot. The city itself was protected by high walls of timber around the base of the hill and while he initially thought such defenses crude as compared to the stone levels of Minas Tirith, Boromir knew that such masonry was no doubt impossible for the men of the plains.

Two helmed guards protected the gate and he saw them clutch their spears tightly as the visitors approached, eyeing them warily. Gandalf maneuvered himself to the front and offered a polite smile as he inclined his head, "Greetings to you, friends."

"There are to be no visitors allowed inside the city." The guard intoned monotonously as he stepped before Shadowfax, cutting off access to the path ahead.

Gandalf seemed surprised by this development, furrowing his brows as he questioned, "Never before has Théoden King turned aside those who come beneath the banner of friendship."

The other guard rolled his eyes, snorting, "Well, things have changed then, haven't they?"

Gandalf's smile became stale then and Boromir felt his own ire rising at such blatant disrespect, but suddenly Amera urged her horse forward. He perked a brow as she smiled beautifully towards the two guards, shyly tilting her head as she softly pleaded, "Please, sirs, my friends and I are greatly tired by the journey and wish nothing more than to rest." She lowered her eyes but for a moment, then looked back gently beneath her dark lashes.

He then realized she was flirting, or at least doing her very best to, and he bit the inside of his lip to keep from bursting with laughter. "We would be _ever_ so grateful to you both," Amera purred as a smile that hinted of seduction played across her lips, running a hand through her dark hair.

There was a pause and Boromir grinned, for surely her plan, as outrageously stupid as it had been, had worked upon the guards. However, his spirits fell as the first guard intoned once more, "By word of Grima Wormtongue, none shall pass through these gates." Amera's face immediately fell, anger briefly flaring in her eyes before returning to their placid blue as she looked decidedly sullen. Boromir reminded himself to make sure to bring up the incident later, already knowing what her reaction would be as he hid his smile.

"Grima Wormtongue?" Gandalf repeated, his eyes widening as Boromir detected disgust in his voice. The guards nodded and the wizard sighed while Aragorn urged their horse forward. Boromir watched as he lowered his head in respectful greeting and calmly stated, "If you should let us pass, for we are friends of your lord, I assure you, we will see to it that Théoden knows of the respect with which you treat your duty. "

The guards sighed and murmured to each other for a moment, closely watching the group assembled before them from the corners of their eyes before they turned. "You may continue onward," The first guard stated while the second finished, "But know the punishment for crime in the city is death. You have been warned."

Boromir was silent as they passed through the wooden gate, unnerved by the silence that greeted them as they traveled upon the dirt paths that scaled the hill before them. The only time Minas Tirith was silent was in the dead of night and even then the sound of the wind echoed through the marble courtyards and glistening gardens beneath the moonlight. As they continued onwards, bleak faced peasants turned to stare at them, their eyes blank as they looked them up and down. It was horrendously discomforting, he thought with a shiver, how emotionless the people of Rohan appeared to be, as grey and tired as the threadbare clothes upon their backs.

He then realized the strange affliction that seemed to plague all within the city was hopelessness and he shuddered, turning his head away for a moment as a small child stared up at him. The people of Rohan had grown complacent with the misery placed upon them, had grown too weary to fight back and in turn they no longer lived, but simply lingered amongst the thatch huts and drawn carts that composed their home. Even now, did his own people grow weary as the threat of Mordor loomed ever closer? As, his jaw set at the thought, even now his father grew weak beneath the enormity of the task placed upon him? Should he ever return to his beloved city, would the once bright eyes of his people be replaced by the cold, lifeless stares he received as they passed through the streets of Meduseld?

A strange noise interrupted his thoughts and he paused, straining to make it out as he placed a hand upon Aragorn's shoulder to slow the horse. Amera and Gandalf rested as well, looking around for the source of the noise. Boromir recognized it to be distant sobbing and without truly thinking, he dismounted and followed the noise with a determination he himself could not understand.

He heard Aragorn call for him, but he was always rushing down a uneven path as the sobs grew louder, his feet flying beneath him. He followed down a small hill and paused as he saw a crowd gathered before a gallows, focusing on the heaving shoulders of a frail woman as she wept. His heart grew heavy as he saw her clutch two small children to her waist, her weathered hands turning their faces away from the gallows as she too turned her head away.

Boromir tentatively stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as his gaze fell upon the emaciated prisoner who slowly walked up the wooden stairs towards his fate, guided by a tall, leering man who appeared to take great pleasure in his duties. The man who was to be executed trembled fiercely, though Boromir saw him set his jaw as he did his best to appear brave for his family as they watched helplessly. He watched the man close his eyes as the rope was tightened around his slender neck, his chest rising and falling swiftly as the sobs of his beloved reached his ears. The executioner grinned at this and all at Boromir felt a fury rise in him like never before, anger coursing through him as the prisoner attempted a small smile at his wife and prepared to die.

"What crime has this man commited?" Boromir blinked as he heard his own voice ring out through the courtyard, equally as surprised as those who turned to stare at him. He swallowed hard, setting forward and moving through the crowd as he repeated once more, his voice growing in power. "What crime is this man accused of?"

The leering executioner flashed a grin filled with rotted teeth, his shiny eyes flashing as he snarled, "He's a thief, that one."

Boromir clenched his fists by his side as he questioned further, unable to keep his revulsion from sinking into his words. "And what theft has he been found guilty of?"

The executioner leered in return and spittle flew from his lips, "Three loaves of bread last week."

There was that name once more, Boromir noted as his temper flared. He spat to the ground, his lip curling with disgust as he growled, "And how can such a simple theft warrant death?"

"If you've got a problem with due justice," The executioner snarled, clearly annoyed at this point, "I suggest you either take it up with Grima Wormtongue or shut up."

"This, this is what you call _justice_?" He roared in fury, striding forward through the crowd as his heart beat wildly in his chest, "That a man who does what he can to provide for his starving family is killed for his actions? That children will not know a father because of three loaves of bread?"

He felt Amera's hand on his shoulder then, trying to hold him back as she whispered in his ear, but he paid no attention as he approached the gallows and shrugged her off. The executioner narrowed his eyes, quickly growing nervous as the Captain General of Gondor approached him, hissing in reply, "Why don't you listen to your bitch and back off?"

It was Boromir, then, that had to hold back Amera as she rushed forward with her inhuman speed at the insult. She fought him briefly and he saw that deadly fire appear in her eyes as he too struggled to withhold from striking down the executioner where he stood. An idea came to him as he rested his hands against Amera's sides in an attempt to quell her fury, calling out, "I will repay this man's debt."

The executioner blinked, as well as the prisoner as Boromir took notice of him for the first time. As Amera turned to look at him in confusion, he let her go and let his hands slip to the belt around his waist. It was beautiful and golden, far too elegant for his liking, but he had worn it out of gratitude to Galadriel for she had bestowed it upon him beneath the fair leaves of her kingdom. Struggling briefly, he finally undid it and tossed it before the leering man's feet, watching as he picked it up with wide, greedy eyes.

"And there," He stated with disgust, his proud jaw set "Is your _justice_."

The executioner looked between Boromir and the prisoner, who was absolutely pale by this point for a moment. With a shrug, he wrapped the intricate belt around his skinny waist and cut the rope from the gallows before swiftly turning to leave. Boromir watched as the man fell to his knees, gasping in utter relief as he removed the noose from his neck and threw it to the side. His wife rushed forward with a sob, weeping openly as she wrapped her arms around him.

He then became aware of the eyes of the crowd as they were fixated him, watching silently as the joyous weeping of the spared rang out through the courtyard. Amera stood beside him and he wrapped a protective arm around her, though he truthfully knew she did not need it, as the faces staring back at him ranged from shock to fear to fury. "Thank…thank you." A soft voice whispered from behind him and he turned, locking his gaze with the wife as cradled her husband's head. "I know naught your name, stranger, nor the reason behind your kindness, but know that I am forever indebted to you."

He paused for a moment, struck by the woman's profound gratitude, then simply nodded. Unable to form words by now and still reeling from his actions, he brushed Amera's hand and turned to leave. The rest of the Fellowship watched him from the top of the hill, still atop their steeds and he lowered his head, but not before he saw the proud smile upon Gandalf's aged face. He began to walk towards them and recognized the lingering fury that still rushed within him, for what ruler would subject their citizens to a life such as this? Where their very lives were held in the hands of men who wished nothing more than to see pain and fear? His stomach tightened with disgust at the thought, for he was sickened by this pale, miserable place. His soul wept once more for the shining walls of Minas Tirith, to stand before the White Tree and bathe in the pure afternoon light as he looked out upon the fields of Pelennor.

"You are a good man, Boromir," Amera's soft voice whispered in his ear as he felt her delicate hand subtlety squeeze his as they returned to the rest of their company. "No matter what may come, do not lose sight of the courage that lies within you."

And he would not.


	10. The Worth of Battle

Amera instinctively glanced over her shoulder as the immense wooden doors of Meduseld closed behind her, a resounding echo sounding through the silent hall before her. She blinked once as she grew used to the darkness and shadows that fell over long tables now coated with a thick layer of dust and aged banners hanging limply between empty torch sconces. A great wave of sadness washed over her then, burying the discomfort created by the loss of her weapons to the guards at the door, as she knew that once this hall had been filled with crackling fires and laughter, the smell of roasted meat mingling with the brisk odor of mead as the hardy men of the plains had gathered, singing tales of heroes and victories while their wives and children laughed beside them.

And now, it was abandoned and silent, just as her beloved Annuminas.

She blinked as fingers brushed against her hand, shifting her glance as Boromir looked to her with concern in his proud eyes. Returning his worry with a faint smile, she looked back to the front of the dark chamber and to Théoden, King of the Golden Hall.

Her immediate reaction was that of revulsion, of disgust and of anger as she looked upon the king that had let his people fall into such hopeless ruin. Théoden had not even the will to sit in his throne, she noted with rising fury as she bit her tongue, but instead slumped forward weakly and appeared to be almost_ resting_ upon the arm and shoulder of the counselor beside him. His skin was so very pale, etched with the deep grooves of wrinkles far behind his age. Dry stalks of hair that had once been fair drooped over his spotted, dirtied face and the golden circlet that rested upon his exhausted brow.

Her attention then turned to the dark man that knelt beside him and whispered in his ear, seeming more like a lover than an advisor. She flinched with disgust as the man's pale eyes fell upon her as he turned to watch the approaching visitors, the weight of his curious, lustful gaze heavy. This was Wormtongue, she knew instantly as she tasted bile in the back of her throat, the coward and traitor that even now cast nervous glances towards the group from beneath pale brows and greasy black hair. Fury bubbled within her as she swallowed hard and tempered herself to remain silent, though from the corner of her eye she was able to see Boromir was less successful at masking his anger.

Gandalf rested on the arm of Legolas beside her, slowly stepping forward as if tired beneath the weight of the grey cloak that hid his white robe. Aragorn and Gimli were silent as well, their gazes trained on the ill men that paced along beside them, glowering and no doubt at the ready should their master Wormtongue call for their aid. She became aware once more of the strange nakedness she felt, nervous at the absence of the weight of her sword at her side. The rest of the group had unarmed themselves at the door in order to gain admittance into the hall, though she had noted Gandalf managed to keep his staff in hand as the doors had shut tightly behind them.

Gandalf's voice then pierced through the thick curtain that hung over the darkened hall as it rang, "Once the courtesy of your hall was known through the East, Théoden King, and I must ask why it has so declined of late."

"Why….why should I welcome you," The frail voice of the king was but a whisper to the proud baritone of the wizard's voice," Gandalf Stormcrow?" Amera recoiled then as the filmy, milky eyes of the aged lord gazed upon them, unseeing as they stared ahead blankly.

"A just question, my liege," Grima Wormtongue rose, narrowing his eyes towards the wizard as he murmured with a voice as thick as oil, "Late is the hour in which this…_conjurer _chooses to appear. Lathspell, I name him, for ill news is an ill guest."

Boromir drew in a heavy breath from beside her, no doubt struggling to withhold his fury as even now she too wished nothing more than the strike down the leech where it stood. The thugs that paced around them came closer now and Amera's slender fingers tightened into fists by her side as she carefully watched them, ready to defend herself should the need arise.

"Be silent!" Gandalf roared from beside her, stepping forward with anger in his wise eyes, "Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm." He raised his staff and Grima recoiled, his eyes widening with fear as he fell backwards.

"The staff!" He hissed, looking wildly to his men, "I told you to take the wizard's staff!"

One of the men roughly pushed Amera out of the way suddenly and she snarled as she lost her balance, falling against the floor as the rest of the men charged forward. However, she righted herself and swung back with a vengeance, oddly pleased by the satisfying crunch that resounded as her fist met the nose of the one that had pushed her down. By now, it had become an absolute fray and she entered gladly, rather enjoying the brief flashes of surprise that appeared on the men as she kicked them down with enough force to leave quite a few bruises, but withheld from doing any sort of permanent damage.

Gandalf strode past her, almost calmly, and she heard his voice ring out but her focus was on the swinging fists that flew around her. From the proud laughter of Gimli, she knew he too was enjoying the lack of challenge that had presented itself. Grinning widely now, she ducked and swung her leg out as she tripped yet another, swiftly rising once more to deflect a blow to her waist. A few seconds later, the formerly glowering men lay silent on the floor around her companions who brushed themselves off lightly.

Amera went to turn back towards Gandalf and Théoden, but gasped and staggered forward in surprise and pain as her scars seemed ripped anew suddenly. She wavered in shock and nearly fell, save for the strong arms of Legolas that wrapped around her waist and held her close. Blinking away hot, reflexive tears as she struggled to steady her breath, flashes of pain rippling across her pale back, she saw for a brief moment the dark eyes of Saruman staring towards her, his cold, calculated gaze flickering behind the hazy film of Théoden's. Realizing the power that Saruman held over the king of Rohan, she slowly rose to her feet and shrugged off Legolas, setting her jaw firmly despite the agonizing pain.

The silence was then broken by the proud, eerie laughter of Saruman as he echoed through Théoden, hints of his visage echoing in the tired face of the king as he snarled towards Gandalf, "You and your precious Aeliniel have no power here, Gandalf the Grey!"

Amera blinked as pure light shattered the dark shadows of the hall as Gandalf removed his cloak, tilting his chin proudly as Théoden recoiled backwards, raising his withered hands to shield himself from the power that rolled off the wizard in great waves. "I withdraw you now, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound!"

A fair woman whom Amera had noticed before rushed from the shadows towards Théoden, but was held back gently by Aragorn as the two wizards faced each other once more, one clad in colors of his former friend and mentor. She wiped away her tears with the back of her wrist roughly, not wishing to appear weak before Saruman, but was comforted as she felt Boromir's strong hand rest upon her shoulder.

"_Be gone!_" There was a sudden flash of piercing light as Théoden roared and sprang towards Gandalf, the dark fury of Saruman blazing in his eyes. She turned her head instinctively, resting it against Boromir's shoulder as he took a step back in surprise. After a moment, she turned back to look up Théoden and gasped as the cares of lifetimes began to fade from his face. The luster of his fair hair returned after a few moments, piercing green eyes blinking as if seeing the light for the very first time. She smiled through her pain as she watched the king withdraw from the shadows of his own mind and heart, touched by the wonder and joy that shone forth from him as he steadily rose, helped by the fair woman beside him.

"And so returns Théoden," Boromir whispered softly in her ear, affectionately brushing his lips against her, "King of the Golden Hall."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Aragorn gently eased open the oak door and carefully stepped into the small chamber. A small fire was lit in the hearth and cast flickering shadows upon the stone room, furnished with nothing save a bed and wooden nightstand. He sighed quietly as his gaze fell to Amera as she lie perfectly still atop the blankets of the bed, still clad in the dark dress that Eowyn had lent her for the funeral. He took a silent step forward, gazing as her sleeping form with worry as he thought back to the afternoon's events.

The funeral of Theodred had been difficult for all. The young prince had been much loved by his people, who had wept and sobbed as his fair body was carried through the streets of Edoras, so pale and so still in death. He had seen the fear in Boromir's eyes, though he had tried desperately to hide it, and he knew that his thoughts were of his younger brother, Faramir. Aragorn sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he looked over the sleeping Aeliniel for any sign of duress; it was war that had snuffed out so many bright young lights before their due time and no matter how many battles he waged, his heart would never grow comfortable with the sheer pain of such needless losses.

Amera had been practically terrified of the funeral beforehand, he knew, for she had admitted to him that she had never attended a funeral before and knew not what to do or what to expect. She had, of course, hidden her fear well enough to be nearly convincing, but he had been able to see past her mask. He had asked Boromir to keep a close eye on her and he had agreed, he recalled with a faint smile, as he had seen him stand proud beside her, as if he could shield her from the pain and grief that echoed through the city streets. However, as the body of Theodred had passed by them, Amera had grown incredibly pale and began to tremble visibly as she had stared upon the corpse. She had blinked a few times, her eyes wide yet blank, and Boromir had wrapped his arms around her as she swayed.

The moment had passed quickly enough and he would have thought it simply a combination of anxiety and exhaustion, save for her immediate disappearance after the funeral. Boromir had tried to see her, he knew, as well as Gimli, but she had stowed herself away in the tiny room provided to her silently. Aragorn knew Amera detested appearing weak before those she did not know as much as she held her grief privately, unused to sharing her emotions with others after hundreds of years of near absolute solitude. Still, a few hours had passed with no word from Amera and Boromir had begun to worry, so he had decided it best to see if she was well.

Not wishing to disturb her rest, he turned to quietly leave but stopped as Amera whispered, "I am awake, Aragorn. You need not leave if you do not wish it."

He turned back to her, looking over her carefully as she stared back at him with those strange eyes. "Are you well, Amera? We are all worried about you."

"I am sorry for that, then. I had not meant to add further tension upon such a day as this."

Aragorn sighed, frustrated as she closed herself off from him. He sat down upon the edge of the bed beside her and asked quietly, "Don't lie, Amera, I know you well enough by now to know something happened at the funeral." Her eyes flickered as she shifted and his thoughts were confirmed as he continued, "What was it that frightened you?"

She closed her eyes for a moment and ran a hand through her dark hair, "I was not frightened, Aragorn."

"Then what was it?"

She looked away, turning her gaze towards the small fireplace as she murmured, "I knew him, Aragorn."

He blinked. "You are mistaken, Amera."

"The night by Fangorn's edge, when the Rohirrim attacked the Uruk-hai," She swallowed hard, closing her eyes as she sighed, "I saw him fall and thought I had helped him."

There was silence then as he watched her, recognizing the distant pain in her eyes as she slowly opened them, the firelight flickering shadows against her face. "I had thought he would be well enough to continue, to fight on without my aid, but I did not take the time to aid him further."

Aragorn gently placed a hand upon her shoulder and whispered softly, "I am sorry, Amera. Death is never easy."

A quick, bitter smile flashed across her face for a moment as her eyes grew dark and distant, almost frightening to him as he moved to withdraw his touch. Her voice then fell to a whisper as the pain and bitterness was replaced by sorrow and grief, the shadows fading from her features. "I am so very tired of war, Aragorn."

A faint smile then appeared upon his own face as he nodded, brushing his fingers absently over her shoulder as he replied, "As do all who come to know it, Amera."

She swallowed hard, an edge appearing in her voice, "I'm tired of feeling helpless, of seeing such pain and death yet being unable to intervene." She sighed and turned to him, her pale eyes meeting his own as she whispered, "Will it ever get easier, Aragorn? Will the pain of loss ever lessen?"

"No…no, it will not, Amera."

"I used to dream of adventures, you know," He blinked as she unexpectedly continued with a sigh, "I yearned to escape beyond the walls of Annuminas, to become a hero like those I read about, whose statues I slept beneath on warm summer nights. I wanted to feel the heat of battle rise in me, to know the sweetness of a just victory." She paused then, "But I know now. There is true joy to be found in the rush of blades and clamor of battle. I was so very wrong."

He was silent, unable to speak as he looked into the gentle flames, and so she spoke for him as she sat up to rest beside him. She placed her slender, cool hand against his own and whispered, a small smile appearing on her face as something changed within her, had cast of the burden he had seen but a moment earlier as she whispered, "But some people, like you, my dear king, had the opportunity to move beyond weapons and skirmishes , to fight against the darkness with your very existence."

Aragorn looked to her as she murmured softly, "You are the hope that gives the battle worth, Elessar."


	11. Misguided Envy

Amera rolled up the sleeves of her gown with a sigh of frustration towards the excess fabric that continually managed to get in her way as she scrubbed away the thick layers of dust that coated the feasting tables. She would have much preferred to clean in a set of robes or, even better, her leggings and tunic, but Eowyn had been kind enough to lend her a few spare gowns and she, in turn, would wear them. Still, she awkwardly scratched her shoulder blades through the heavy material, she was not required to _enjoy_ wearing the homespun clothes.

It had been a quiet morning, the city silent as its people went about their business, their grief as fresh as the raindrops that fell from the grey sky above. She had been briefly woken in the night and had instinctively grown defensive as a shadow appeared beside her bed, but was calmed as Boromir's strong arms had wrapped around her, his warm body resting protectively against hers as he had crawled in beside her. And so, as the morning came, she had rested her head on his chest in absolute comfort, closing her eyes as she listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat in contrast to the gentle raindrops that fell against the stone roof above them.

Boromir had left to join Gandalf and the others in counseling Theoden and while she had initially prepared to accompany them, Gandalf had rather awkwardly explained that he doubted Theoden would be accustomed to the advice of someone who appeared to be a young woman. Flustered and annoyed, she had nonetheless known that this was not her battle to fight and had instead gone in search of something to do to pass the time. Walking through the village at the bottom of the hill had initially proved to be worthy of interest, for she desired to see how Edoras differed from Annuminas, the only other city of Men she had ever known, but decided it would be best to not dirty the borrowed gown.

So, she had decided to pass the time by attempting to restore Meduseld to its former glory, searching until she found a few rags and a bucket of water to begin the cleaning. She was perfectly content to stare into the dark, intricate designs of the oak tables as she scrubbed them down, absently humming the tune of a melody whose words she had long forgotten. It was pleasant work, deeply gratifying as she saw the proud sheen of the feasting tables slowly return as she worked away the thick layer of dust and grime. However, she glanced over her shoulder in confusion as a startled gasp suddenly surprised her.

"My….my lady!" Amera found herself staring into the pale blue eyes of Theoden's niece, who looked at her with absolute horror as she rushed forward. Amera blinked in confusion as the woman's pale hand reached towards the rag, her head dropping in embarrassment and shame as she stammered, "I must apologize for this great dishonor."

Amera perked a brow, shooting her a curious look as she slowly backed the rag away from her outstretched hand. "I'm afraid I don't understand…"

Eowyn blinked once, a slight blush rising in her pale features as she murmured, "You are a guest in these halls yet you clean them. And-" Her voice grew to a tentative whisper, "You are the Lake-Daughter, if such is true."

Amera smiled softly and brushes a lock of hair away from her eyes. "You need not apologize for I do so out of my own will and," She nodded once, "My name is Amera and I would have you call me such, for we are to be friends, I should think."

Eowyn looked up, a small smile crossing her pretty features as she replied, "Well, if nothing else I should ask that I at least join you."

"Suit yourself." Amera tossed another wet rag to her as she turned her attention back to the table. They scrubbed in silence for a few minutes and she examined Eowyn from the corner of her as they worked, for while they had briefly met before she had never truly had the time to look over Theoden's niece. She was proud and fair in the nature of the women of Rohan, her beauty strong and unapologetic, though Amera could see worry and fear in her eyes as she scrubbed the table beneath her hands. Her pale hair flowed over her shoulder and backs, beautifully emphasizing the sky blue of her eyes. As she hid a grin, Amera noticed the muscle in her arms as she cleaned.

However, her gaze lasted a moment too long for Eowyn took notice of it and blushed, awkwardly stating, "If you wish to stop, my la…Amera, I will gladly finish that which you began. One of your position should not be reduced to cleaning soiled tables."

Amera burst into laughter at this, her soft voice ringing through the empty hall as Eowyn stared at her in confusion. Waving a hand as she gathered her breath and turned back once more the work, she grinned and stated, "All I really did for roughly a thousand years was clean, Eowyn, you need not worry that I am uncomfortable with such work."

The hall was silent for a few more moments save for the sound of rags upon old oak until Eowyn gently questioned, "So, what they say about you is true, then?"

Amera shrugged, kneeling to run the rag over the bench as she replied, "I suppose that rather depends on what 'they' say, for I'm afraid I generally not made privy to such."

There was another pause and Amera realized she had unintentionally embarrassed the woman, though Eowyn replied after a moment, "They say that you were born of water, that you protected Annuminas far to the East."

"This is true."

"They said that you swore loyalty unto the kings of Arthedain, remaining ageless until a true king of Gondor should return."

"Also true."

There was a slight cough. "And I had heard that you bathed in the blood of those who dared enter your city."

"Wait, what?" Amera banged her head against the table as she flinched, cursing under her breath as she rubbed the back of her head gently. "What exactly did you say?"

"Legend says that you did not spare mercy upon those who trespassed, that you…you bathed in their blood."

"_Absolutely not_." Amera huffed, taking her anger out on a particularly difficult stain as she retorted, "I can assure that is in _no way _true and I'd ask you to inform any who speaks of such that they are, in fact, completely wrong."

Eowyn grinned at this and Amera was happy to see her finally relax, her shoulders no longer stiff as she brushed her flaxen hair over them. "I did not presume you to be of such character when first we met and I am glad to hear it confirmed." She paused, "May I ask how you came to travel with such an assorted company, Amera?"

Amera exhaled, laughing softly to herself as she struggled to find the best way to relay such a tale. "Well, for better or for worse, I disobeyed the orders of Elrond Halfelven and set out behind them from Imladris many months ago."

"You disobeyed his commands?"

Amera shifted slightly and shrugged, "Well, I suppose I was not _explicitly_ forbidden to accompany them, so I rather disregarded his strong suggestions."

"Would you mind telling me of your companions?" Eowyn smiled shyly, "For I must admit I have never encountered one of the first born nor a dwarf before."

Amera rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand for a moment, gently laughing as she replied, "Well, not all of my original companions are here, but those you have met are the finest men you could hope to meet. I know you have met Gandalf or Mithrandir, whichever you call him, before and surely you have garnered your own impression of him by now." Eowyn nodded and she grinned, continuing as she worked away at the dust, "Legolas is quiet and fair in the way of the elves and I should think him unrivaled in his skill with a bow. Gimli is…_sturdy_, as I suppose is a way to put it, staunch and loyal to any whom he calls friend. " Amera bit her lip absently, squinting her eyes as she struggled to define her friends, "Boromir is proud," She snorted, "That is certain, but with it comes strength and kindness, for he wishes naught but the best for those around him. And Aragorn is a true leader, quiet but noble in his actions, for he desires neither fame nor approval."

"May I ask something personal of you, Amera?" Eowyn stated after a long minute and Amera absently shrugged in reply, "I had seen that you and the lord Aragorn are quite close," She looked down and Amera slowly raised both her brows as she detected a slight brush, "Is there something between you two, if…if you do not mind my inquiry?"

Amera stared at her for a long moment, then burst into near hysterical laughter as Eowyn watched in horror. Tears rolled down her face as she shook her head from side to side, unable to form words as she struggled to gather air. "No!" She gasped after a few more moments, doing her best to control herself so as not to make Eowyn more uncomfortable than she no doubt already was, "I assure you a thousand times over that there is nothing between Aragorn and I."

"May I confess something to you, then?"

"Oh, um, certainly."

"I am jealous of you, Amera."

Amera tilted her head in confusion, setting down the rag as she quietly questioned, "How so?"

Eowyn sat down on the bench beside, her eyes lighting with a strange fire as she smoothed out her dress and lowered her voice almost conspiratorially, "Do you not see it, Amera?" She laughed quietly, a smile crossing her features, "You are able to defend what you love with all your strength, to draw your blade in defiance of that which threatens your home, unburdened by that which is expected of us as women! You are able to pass beyond the walls of your city without a guardian, to roam the vast wilds as you please. Amera," her voice lowered to a whisper, "You are _free_."

"Do not envy me, Eowyn." Amera's voice was empty and low, her eyes distant as any trace of humor disappeared.

"I…I do not understand." Eowyn stammered.

"I am free, yes, but it has come at a great cost." Amera paused, closing her eyes briefly. "My hands are forever stained with the blood of those who I have slain, the cries and sobs of the wounded forever haunting my dreams. Time and time again, my liberty has come with great loneliness, for I can never belong to any race of this earth; I will forever be a stranger no matter what lands I pass through. My duty has burdened me to where I thought I would I would break beneath it, only to struggle onwards." She paused as she saw the fear in Eowyn's eyes and sighed, a bittersweet smile appearing as she murmured, "I do not regret my path or that which has been asked of me, but I would not wish upon another, not even an enemy."

And without another word, Amera silently rose and excused herself, leaving a startled Eowyn behind with rag in hand.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Amera blinked as Boromir stormed past her, gritting his teeth as he ran a hand angrily through his auburn hair. She opened her mouth to inquire as to what was wrong, but did not have the chance as he flung open the doors to the outside of the hall and shut them swiftly behind them. She raised both brows as her gaze traveled to the room from whence he had come, overhearing frustrated voices that clearly struggled to remain calm as their volumes rose and fell. She took a careful step closer to the doorway, straining to make out what Theoden and the others were saying, but quickly pretended to have an interest in a nearby tapestry as Gandalf left the room.

"I'm afraid you will need to do a better job than that, Amera, if you wish me to believe you were not eavesdropping." Gandalf sighed as she turned to him, realizing any attempt to fool the wizard would surely be a lost cause. He looked tired, she saw, his eyes distant as she quietly inquired, "And am I to assume negotiations are not going as smoothly as you would have wished, Gandalf?"

He sighed again, frustration creeping into his voice he paced the corridor before her, "They are not going _at all_, in case you are curious, because neither Theoden nor Boromir are unable to put aside their accursed pride for but a moment! With each moment we waste Saruman grows stronger and if those two had their way, they would argue pointlessly till the forces of Isengard stood outside their very door!"

"Do you want me to try and talk to him, then?"

"I cannot guess it will be much use, but perhaps he will listen to you as he did not to Aragorn and myself." Gandalf shrugged, leaning on his staff as he nodded to her, "If you can persuade him to put aside his blasted stubbornness and see past his thick skull, I will try calm Theoden."

Amera awkwardly nodded, attempting a small joke as she replied softly, "Well, I suppose I'll just have to tell him in those exact words, won't I, Gandalf?"

He glared at and she scurried off quickly to the outside, shutting the proud, tall doors behind her as she breathed in the afternoon air. The rain had cleared off somewhat from the showers this morning, but a grey haze hung over Edoras and lazy, dark clouds circled around the white peaks in the distance. She breathed in the comforting, earthy smell of the rain and lifted the bottom of her gown delicately as she made her way down the stone stairs, searching for any sign of the angered son of the Steward.

She found him a few moments later, gazing out from atop a small watchtower over the swaying plains that separated him from his beloved home. Amera quietly approached from behind him, recognizing the proud, fierce gleam in his eyes as the chilled breeze stirred his hair around his jaw. He flinched as her hand brushed his, but relaxed as she stepped beside and looked out at Rohan. She could see the rain approaching across the copper plains, dark clouds gathering and growing ever closer as the breeze began to pick up.

"Did Gandalf send you?" Boromir questioned emotionlessly from beside her, sighing quietly as he ran a hand through his hair.

"Yes," Amera murmured as she ran a hand gently up and down his back, "But I would have come nonetheless, Boromir." He was silent at this and she shifted to stand before him, softly inquiring, "What troubles you?"

Boromir's jaw set as he swallowed hard, anger evident in his voice as he struggled to contain himself, "Theoden spurns the aid of Gondor, claiming that he needs no further help in defending his own people, despite all that I have told him." He drew a frustrated breath, his voice rising slightly as he waved an arm to the hall behind them, "He _claims _that Gondor has sat by idly and watched as his people suffered the rising tide of Isengard." He shrugged off her touch as his hands clenched the wooden panel before him, "Does he not know that his people have enjoyed their simple lives for so long because it has been paid for by the blood of Gondor? By the sweat and tears of the soldiers who have died before my very eyes! How dare he question Gondor's loyalty in such times as these!"

He looked away, fury shining in his eyes and Amera was silent as she watched him. A raindrop fell upon his tightened hand and she gently brushed it away, spreading her slender fingers over his calloused ones as she murmured, "Turn to the village down the hill, Boromir, and tell me what you see."

Boromir looked at her in confusion and she tilted her chin down the hill. He sighed after a long moment, letting her hand rest upon his, and replied absently, "I see people going about their business."

Amera then stepped beside him, linking her fingers between his own as she rested her head against his shoulder. "And what is it those people desire, love?"

He shrugged, "What any do. They wish for peace and comfort, for a better life for their children than they themselves had."

"And is it the same in Gondor?"

"….Yes." He looked to her, unsure of her reasoning. She smiled faintly as she looked out at the thatched cottages and carts that scattered the dirt streets, her dark hair swirling over her shoulders as the storm clouds grew closer. Her voice was soft, but a whisper that was nearly carried away by the breeze. "And just as your father wishes to give his people that which they desire, so does Theoden. He fears disappointing them, to betray them in his duty by failing to make the right choice, Boromir."

He sighed quietly, blinking away a teardrop that slowly coursed its way down his head as he held Amera closer while she continued, "Understand that his actions, as strange and rude as you may find them to be, are not born out of malice, but of the great desire to do what his best for his people, even at the cost of rebuking an ally in his misgivings."

Amera closed her eyes in comfort as his lips gently rested upon the top of her head, his breath warm against her curls as he drew her close. Laughing quietly now, he murmured, "Diplomacy suits you, Amera."

She grinned and shifted her head, kissing him softly for a moment before replying, "You had best go inside now, lest I suffer Gandalf's wrath later."

He turned to towards the stone stairs that led to Meduseld, but briefly glanced over his shoulder with an affectionate smile, his eyes gentle as he calmly stated, "Thank you, Amera."

She crossed her arms nonchalantly, smirking faintly as she leaned against the pillar of the watchtower, "I've had to counseled lords far more stubborn that you, my dear Boromir, make no mistake of that."


	12. A Sudden Understanding

**Author's Note: The lack of reviews of late has been a little bit discouraging, but I think this chapter will definitely surprise. As a reminder, I am truly encouraged to write when I receive feedback because it allows me to understand that people are still interesting in what I create and use their criticism and ideas to make a better story over all. If you have any feedback at all, please, please review and know that it means a great deal to me. Thanks and enjoy the chapter!**

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

_Amera carefully smoothed out her gown and closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in the chill night air as she opened the doors to the throne room. The chamber never ceased to take her breath away, the moonlight tinted soft greens and blues as it streamed through the colored glass high above her head. Elegant golden sconces held lit torch that flickered wickedly against the spotless marble columns that lined the room. And, as her gaze traveled down the length of the room, Calmacil sat lazily atop the ancient throne of Annuminas, surrounding by emptied wine bottles. _

_ Lowering her head respectfully, she slowly strode forward and knelt before him, her voice soft as she murmured, "_Your captain told me you had summoned for me, my lord."

_ She could feel his eyes pour over her as he chuckled and she swallowed hard, closing her eyes as he slurred, "_Indeed, I did, my lovely Aeliniel." _There was a brief pause and she heard him greedily swallow yet another goblet of the rich wine stored in the kitchens_. "Tell me, have you enjoyed my little visit?"

"Of course, my lord." _That was a lie. Amera was anxious for his departure on the morrow, excited to be free of the leering gazes and filthy whispers of the men that had accompanied him on his journey. Each time she encountered his company, she could feel their lustful eyes on her slender body, violated by the thoughts that she knew swirled in their minds as she passed. Calmacil had been a pig of a king, she had come to realize over the past few days, for as she had tried to show him the monuments, tombs and statues dedicated to his forbearers, he had shown nothing but blatant disregard for the proud tradition from which he was descended. He had more interested in the stores of the treasury than the emblems of his people, bored by the ancient courtyards and glittering towers of Annuminas. She would patiently wait until his death and his successor would eventually visit, as all the kings did, for she wanted him to leave and never return._

"You know," _He belched then and she cringed slightly, her lip curling with disgust as she hid her eyes from him_, "I will be leaving tomorrow."

"Yes, my lord."

_He suddenly rose and she felt her heart beat in her chest as his stained fingers roughly grabbed her chin, forcing her gaze upon him as he slurred,_ "And I would have you perform one last service."

_She swallowed hard, resisting the instinct to strike out at him as he stared at her with hazy eyes, steadying her voice as she replied_, "Of course, my lord, I have sworn loyalty to that line to which you belong. Ask what you will and I shall see it done."

He grinned crookedly at this, his fingers slowly brushing along the pale curve of her cheek. Amera tasted bile in the back of her throat, swallowing its acidic burn as she willed herself to remain still. One last task and he would be gone forever, she reminded herself, taking with him half the bounty of her city in his greedy hands. She uttered a small, ragged gasp as his hands left her face and traveled to the cords of his robe. Calmacil cracked his neck idly as his robe slipped away, revealing a bare chest and leggings as he stood before her.

_She recoiled, instantly rising to her feet and treading slowly backwards as she whispered_, "You have drunk too much, my lord, and know not what you do."

_He rolled his eyes and motioned her forward, taking a lazy swig from his goblet_. "Come now, Aeliniel."

"No…_no_."

_The drunken king sighed, running a hand through his dark hair before reaching to untie his breeches._ "No need to make this more uncomfortable than necessary, dearie, surely you've done this sort of thing in the past.

_Her mind flashed back to the night in the treasury, trembling as she recalled the vibrant crimson that had stained her pale hands and the empty sobs that had wracked her body as she had scrubbed them for what seemed like an eternity, desperate to rid herself of the evidence of her needs. She snarled back without thinking, her heart beating wildly in her chest as she recalled the great rage that had soared through her, _"I will not do this, Calmcil!"

"You don't have a choice_!" He roared in return, a deadly fire raging in his bloodshot eyes as he staggered forward, pointing towards her as he leered,_ "You are sworn to do as I say, are you not?"

"Do not do this." _Each word was filled with bitter venom as they flew from her lips._

"I, Calmacil of Arthedain," _He snarled as he strode forward, roughly grabbing her chin in his hands as he forced her face just a movement's from his own, hot spittle burning her skin,_ "Order you, Aeliniel, to submit to my will as your duty ordains."

_She was silent, staring at him with absolute loathing, her chest rising up and down as her fingers clenched into tight fists by her side. He snorted, finishing off his goblet with a tilt of his head_, "As I thought." _His eyes grew distant with lust and she closed her own eyes in return, willing herself to another place as his words fell upon her_, "Now strip."

_The night breeze, once so comforting to her, was icy and cruel as it wound its way around her bare form, stirring the gown around her feet as she remained perfectly still. Her jaw was firm as she raised her head, refusing to grant him what victory she could, looking him straight in the eyes as he strode closer. She would not be a victim to him, no, she told herself, she would allow him what was forced of her and that was it. A simple physical action. That was all. No more, no less._

_His wine stained fingers slowly stretched towards her pale breast, his eyes widening as a lustful grin spread across his face. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, removing herself from her body as her mind traveled to the quiet gardens on the uppermost tier of the city, to the cool water and delicate leaves that swirled around her as she slept. She felt his touch upon the gentle swell of her slender breast for but a moment, then recoiled as he suddenly roared in pain and surprise._

_Her eyes flew open as her hands instinctively covered herself, staring as Calmacil staggered backward, clutching his hand which was now strangely discolored, as if it had been burnt. He looked at her with horror and loathing, the heaviness of his eyes gone as he snarled in rage and terror,_ "You…you _burned_ me."

_She took a step back, terrified and confusion as she reached for her gown rapidly, sweeping it over her body as she watched the furious king before her. He fell backwards as he lost his weight, tripping over one his discarded bottles and she made a motion forward, but froze in disgust as the instinct passed. _

"What…what _are _you_?" He snarled and she took another step backward, biting her lip in shame and fury and fear. "Be gone!" He suddenly roared and she whimpered quietly as the goblet flew from his hand and struck her cheek. She felt the skin tear and the warmth of blood as it spilled down her cheek, the vessel slowly wobbling by her feet as Calmacil shrieked_, "_Be gone, witch!"_

Amera turned and fled into the night, her heart beating with fury as she hid in the shadows of her city and waited for her king to leave.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

As Boromir slowly shut the oak door behind him, he knew at once that Amera was recalled some distant memory as she stared into the dying fire, her dark hair streaming over the pale blue of her gown as she stood frozen. Softly murmuring, he took a step closer, "Amera?" He paused mid-step as he took notice the change in her eyes, for when she lost herself in the recollections that constantly swirled through her mind, her flickering eyes were bittersweet, filled with both joy and sorrow as she remembered that which had long since passed. But now, her eyes were different; cold and distant, yet rippling with a burning intensity he had only seen before in the heat of battle and the night they had first kissed in Lorien as she had cried out at him in pain and suffering.

Unsure of what to do, he slowly extended his hand to rest upon her shoulder. He blinked as she flinched and turned, rage burning in her eyes as his touch interrupted her thoughts. However, she glanced away for a moment and seemed to gather herself before whispering, "I am sorry, Boromir, I…my thoughts were elsewhere."

"Sh," He wrapped his arms around her slender waist, closing his eyes as his hands felt the familiar arch of her hipbones as he pulled her closer, "You need not apologize, love." He kissed the top of her head, murmuring into her curls, "Do you wish to speak of it?"

"No." Her voice was swift and he knew not to press the issue, instead planting a gentle kiss as he removed himself from the embrace and rested upon the edge of his bed. With a tired sigh, he absently kicked off his boots, continuing, "Do try and get some sleep tonight, Amera, for the journey tomorrow will not be an easy one." He swallowed the angry words that threatened to burst forth at the thought of Theoden's decision, but instead ran a hand through his hair before undoing his hauberk. "Tomorrow will be filled with crying children and frightened mothers as Edoras is emptied and, for better or for worse, the people of Rohan will flee to Helm's Deep," He sighed once more, "under command of Theoden."

"He fears for his people, Boromir, you know this." He looked as Amera's soft voice whispered to him and was suddenly robbed of breath, his jaw involuntarily dropping as he watched her slowly put on a cotton shirt, her back to him as her dress was draped over the edge of the bed. He swallowed hard as he traced the curve of her waist with his eyes, the way her pale, bare shoulders shifted as her dark hair tumbled over them. Boromir forced his gaze away, closing his eyes as he stammered, "You could give a warning, Amera."

"What?" She turned around and perked a brow, clad in her loose shirt and leggings as she cast him an odd glance. He rolled his eyes as he looked to her, "You know."

She blinked, then snorted as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Unless I am mistaken, you've already seen all of me, Boromir."

He blushed and looked away, staring intently at his bare feet as he mumbled, "That was different."

There was a brief pause and he heard the smile in her voice as she murmured, "Do I tempt you?"

He rolled his eyes once more and laid on top of the bed, resting his arms behind his head as he grumbled, "Shut up, Amera." A moment later and she gently crawled into bed with him, but he blinked as she shifted to her body to rest just above his, her dark hair fall over his shoulders onto his chest as she smirked. He took a deep breath as her hand softly brushed along his cheekbone, her pale eyes rippling in the firelight as they met his. She slowly leaned in, positioning her delicate mouth but a movement from his own, her breath warm against his lips as his heart began to race in his chest. This was different for her, he knew as his hands traveled of their own accord to her hips, for while Amera had always been passionate, even fierce at times in her affection when the burning light appeared in her stormy eyes, her closest attempt to seduction had come in the form of smacking his arm when he said something out of line or flashing him one of her quick, feral grins.

Amera's eyes flickered to his lips and his to hers, their eyes slowly closing as she whispered his name and closed the distance between them. He sighed into the kiss as her slender hands gently cupped his hand, the smooth pads of her fingers tracing his cheekbones as his hands slid up her back to pull her closer. She trembled for a moment as his fingers slid across the rough edge of her scars through her thin shirt, four ragged lines against the smooth pale of her curve. He paused at this, not wanting to hurt her, but moaned softly as she suddenly deepened the kiss and moved her hands to rest firmly against his chest. His hands slid to her shoulder blades, which danced beneath his touch as she shifted slightly, their passion rising swiftly as his body reacted to her touch.

He wanted to inquire about the sudden change in her, to know why the difference in her actions, but all thoughts fled from his mind as her lips traveled to his neck and began to explore the delicate skin between his jaw and collarbone. He gasped slightly, groaning her name gently as her soft lips danced against him, gentle and fierce all at once in a way that stole his breath away. Boromir closed his eyes and cradled her head, his fingers slipping through her dark curls as his desire grew. The kiss beside the Anduin that night, so long ago, had been passionate, yes, but this, this was different.

With a thick, low growl he rolled atop her and positioned his arms above her head as he hungrily met her lips, his kiss fierce as his tongue caressed her own. She groaned his name beneath him and his heart raced at her response, for he wanted nothing more than to hear him breathe his name over and over again in pleasure, pleasure he could and needed to give her. He had been with other women and while he was not proud of his…interactions with them, there had been no true feelings behind the act. But Amera was different.

He opened his eyes and watched the dying fire dance over her pale skin, listen to the soft sighs of her moans as her hands explored the muscles that rippled through his back as his hips shifted against her own. She glowed with desire, her slender chest rising and falling swiftly beneath his own, her dark, lustrous hair fanned out around her head as it lay against the pillows. He did not protest as her hands fumbled with shirt, shifting as he roughly removed it and threw it aside before leaning down once more to meet her lips. His hands trembled as they fell to her hips, his thumbs rubbing small circles against the arching bones. He groaned deeply as her mouth trailed to his neck once more, her tongue tracing invisible designs over his sensitive skin as his mind grew hazy with lust.

Without thinking, he gently shifted her legs apart and settled his hips between them, shuddering at the sudden friction between them as she sighed his name. Boromir knew what was to come and wanted it desperately, longing to know her in ways that none before he had, to take her in his arms and if only for a little while, escape the burdens placed upon them both. However, he needed to know one thing, to discover the answer to the question that had plagued him since the night they had kissed beneath the veiled starlight.

OOOOOOOOOO

Amera swallowed hard, breathing in deeply as her breath raced, her vision swimming before her as her body burned with a desire she had never known. Boromir rested his forehead against hers and she smiled softly, wrapping her arms around his neck as she whispered, "What is it, love?"

His eyes were hazy with lust, but still sparkled with emerald flecks of pride as he looked down into her eyes. His hair, messied by her fingers hung around his glowing face and she brushed a loose lock behind his ear, waiting for him to speak. His voice was but a whisper as he finally spoke, almost nervous in its softness, "Why me, Amera?"

She blinked, "What?"

His fingers slowly traced along the arch of her cheekbone and her heart fluttered in her chest, closing her eyes in content as he continued gently, "You could have had anyone, Amera, why did you choose me?"

She looked at him for a long moment, then laughed with gentle affection as she pressed her lips briefly against his own, tickled by the softness of his beard as she replied, "I did not want _anyone_, Boromir. I did not seek out what now I feel and in truth," She kissed him once more, "I had thought myself incapable of caring for another outside that which my duty claimed."

He was not satisfied by this answer, she saw, and as she rolled her eyes, she gently elaborated, "All my life, Boromir, through all the ages I have known, I have been revered and feared by those whom I served. I was treated either as a monster, as something unnatural to be kept hidden away behind shining walls, as a foolish, delicate child to be kept safe in a gilded, ancient cage or something intangible, a creature that could never understand the emotions of those she met because she was not human, forever alone in the remains of a city she was bound to."

She swallowed hard, fighting back the memories of the pain and loneliness that flooded her mind, and whispered, "But when you looked at me, Boromir, there was no needless reverence, no fear," Her hand rose and gently cupped the side of his noble face as she whispered, "You saw me as an equal, melleth nin, as one who walk beside you, one who could play a part in the shaping of the destiny of this world." Amera blinked away tears she had not known had formed, smiling softly as she gazed up at the captain general of Gondor, "You looked at me like I was human."

There was a pause and she was unable to determine the emotions that flickered in his eyes as he looked down on her. She swallowed hard and looked aside as he was silent, biting her lip as she tried to think of an apology, of a way to retract what she had just said.

"I love you, Amera."

She looked back to him, tears filled her eyes as the simple truth in his words rippled through her. A moment later and their lips connected yet again, her hands stroking the soft curls that dotted his broad chest as he shifted against in a steady rhythm. The scars of where the arrows had pierced his chest were a reminder to her of how close she had come to losing him, hoe she should have and would lost him if not for Nienna's intervention. In between the soft moans that involuntarily escaped her lips as his hands trembled at her waist, she thanked Nienna for the grace that had been shown unto her, for the life of the proud, noble son of the Steward that had been saved.

Without thinking, she took his hands in her own and slowly slid them beneath the fabric of her thin shirt, granting him permission to explore her pale flesh as no other had, her heart racing with an intensity she had only known in the midst of battle. He drew in a slow, uneven breath as his fingers slid up her stomach, then groaned deeply as they met the slender swell of her breasts. Amera's back arched slightly as he caressed her, both firmly and gently, gasping at her body surged with sudden, breath-taking heat. His hips moved a steady rhythm against her own and in that moment, she wanted him more than anything else, to be able to reciprocate the pleasure he created in her, to share the secrets of her body with him and to know him. To love him.

"When this all ends," Boromir sighed as his eyes closed in obvious pleasure, his bare chest rising and falling as his calloused hands explored the pale flesh of her body, "Come with me, Amera."

She moaned softly at this, placing her hands atop his once more as she guided him. His voice was low and thick as he continued, heavy with lust as he breathed, "Let me show you the wonders of my city, my beautiful Amera, let me share it all with you. Come to Minas Tirith me, love."

Amera trembled at his words, an icy chill sweeping through her as a flurry of memories surged through her like tidal wave. Boromir noticed her silence and paused, drawing a deep breath as he repeated, "Leave behind the empty streets of Annuminas, Amera, and return to the pride of glory of the Gondor. Stay with me in Minas Tirith."

She could not breathe at that moment and only strange, choked sounds escaped her throat. He looked at her in alarm, gently cupping her face with his hands, "What is it, love?"

"I….I cannot."

"But, why? Would you not wish a future with me?" The pain that suddenly appeared in his eyes broke her heart and she shook her head fiercely, wrapping her arms around his neck as she whispered, "Of course not, melleth nin, I love you with all that I am."

"Then why, Amera?"

"Because I am banished, Boromir." He recoiled in surprise and she turned her head, closing her eyes as a stray tear coursed down her cheek. Each word drove a stake into her heart, her hands trembling with the ferocity of the pain that surged through her. "I am banished from the realm of Gondor under penalty of death."

He stared at her in absolute shock, his eyes wide as he struggled to gather his words, finally stammering, "I…I don't understand. I thought you left Annuminas after the death of Earnur, Amera."

She bit her lip as her shoulders trembling, her eyes slowly opening as she stared blankly into the dying embers of the fire. "I was banished, Boromir," Her voice fell to a low, pained whisper, "I would not so readily abandon that which I cared for and called my home for nearly a thousand years."

"Who banished you, Amera?" Boromir suddenly grew angry, his eyes flickering as he growled, "And why?"

"It was a mistake, my love, for the fault lies with myself, as well. He…he was scared and I was scared, terrified of the uncertainty of what lay before us. He only meant well," Her voice cracked as she closed her eyes, swallowing hard, "I know this now, he only wished for things to be as once they were, but I refused to see this in my pride, refused to admit my failings, that things had changed forever. And for this," She sighed, "I was banished."

Boromir was silent as he stared at her, closing his eyes as he slowly questioned that which she knew him to know that answer of, "Who did this, Amera?"

She looked to him, her voice barely a voice. "Mardil Voronwe, the Steward of Gondor."

He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, swallowing hard as he drew a deep breath. Tears fell from Amera's eyes as she watched him, wanting nothing more than to run into the sanctuary of his embrace and forever leave behind her past. Boromir finally spoke, running a hand through his hair as he whispered, "_My _ancestor, Amera, whose blood flows through my veins, was the reason you fled Annuminas and laid beneath the leaves of Fangorn for an age?"

"Boromir, please, it was my fault, as well. He only asked that I vow to serve him as I had the line of Elendil, for he wanted naught but to show his people that their Aeliniel remained true to them after the breaking of the line. You must understand this, love." She took his face in her hands with renewed desperation, tears flowing down her face as he refused to meet her gaze. "It was _my _fault, Boromir. _I _caused this, subjected myself to this in my unwavering pride."

He recoiled at her touch, rising from the bed as he backed away, shaking his head as he stared at Amera. "Amera...I…" He whispered, his eyes bright with the pain of sudden understanding, "I do not understand why you did not tell me this."

Amera's heart was torn asunder at his pain, rising before him as she implored, "Because it lay in the past, Boromir! Because it was a thousand years ago and bore no relevancy to the journey before us!"

"How can you say that?" His voice grew angry as he slammed his hands against the wall, his chest heaving as his auburn hair fell over his face.

"Because I love you, Boromir!" She snarled in return, choking back tears as she shook her head at him, reaching out for him in desperation. He turned to look at her hand and reached out for it, but suddenly recoiled as he turned to stare at her. Through her tears, she could see a strange emotion in his forest eyes, one she did not recognize and he whispered, "I am sorry, Amera. I am so sorry."

Her voice cracked as whispered, pleading to the man she loved, "I do not want your pity, Boromir."

His shoulders suddenly shook as he held back a choked sob, turning his gaze from her as he hurried to pull his shirt over his head and she saw he struggled to keep his composure, running his hands frantically through his hair. "Boromir, don't do this." She whispered, her eyes widening in horror as he staggered to the door.

"My love, please."

The proud son of the Steward looked over his shoulder at her as he opened the door and she saw tears in his eyes, flickering as he swallowed hard.

"Boromir, please."

Tearing his gaze from her, Boromir turned and disappeared into the shadows of the dark hall, leaving Amera alone to weep in the dying firelight.


	13. Pain & Pride

Gimli grasped the horse's reins tightly as it trotted over the rocky ground, glancing over his shoulder as the wooden arches of Meduseld faded behind the mountain peaks as the people of Rohan drew closer and closer to Helm's Deep, their last refuge as Saruman's desire for power grew. With a quiet sigh, he focused his attention once more on the large line that trailed lazily through the rocky outcroppings that dotted the plains, their arms filled with that which was most precious to them as they struggled to guide their children along. Up ahead he could see Aragorn conversing with Theoden's niece as she lead her horse, her fair hair shimmering over her shoulders as she tilted her head back with a laugh.

Gimli chuckled at himself to this and raised a hand to absently stroke his beard, but blinked and rested it firmly upon the reins once more as his delicate balance was nearly upset. Still, he decided as he adjusted himself with a quick fidget, it was nice to see some affection on a day like today. His daily source of amusement, when not provided in one way or another by Legolas, was made up of Amera and Boromir keep their eyes off one another. While they had never publically made their relations known, it was more than obvious to the remaining members of the Fellowship that they cared greatly for each other in a way that distinctly went beyond mere companionship.

However, Amera had been in a profoundly miserable state all day and he had watched her expressions shift from anger to disappointment to remorse as she had silently led her horse onward, dark shadows beneath her normally vibrant eyes. He pitied the young gentlemen who had sauntered towards her, flashing a brave grin as he had clearly attempted to make some sort of flirtatious conversation with her as she trekked. Gimli had been unable to overhear the conversation, but had roared with laughter as the lad had fled from her but a few moments later, Amera no doubt working her speech craft as well she ever did.

Boromir had ridden ahead with Aragorn, his jaw set as his face was void of any emotion, but had trotted ahead beside Theoden as Eowyn had walked past and begun to talk to the ranger. His proud eyes had been distant and once Gimli had thought he had caught him nodding off in the saddle, though was quickly awoken as his steed tripped over the uneven ground, and suspected he had received as little sleep as Amera.

"Legolas, get over here." Gimli called out to the elf ahead of him, ushering him closer as he muttered, "Do ya' know what happened between Amera and Boromir, then?"

Legolas shook his fair head as he replied, walking in time with the horse as he softly replied, "I know not, but I saw Amera sitting atop of the guard towers in the dead of night and she was yet there when I saw her this morning."

Gimli nodded and tilted his chin towards Amera's back up ahead, "Amera, lass! Won't you come walk with us for few minutes."

Amera perked a brow slowly as she glanced over her shoulder, but came to a stop until the dwarf and elf were even with her, then blankly questioned, "Have you need of something, Gimli?"

"You and Boromir are avoiding each other." Legolas suddenly intoned from beside her and Gimli sighed quietly, shaking his head as he replied, "You're not exactly the most subtle creature, are you, Legolas?"

Amera glared darkly and turned her head as she replied, "I wish not to talk of it. Perhaps you might try interrogating Boromir if you have wish to know further of his business."

Normally Gimli would have been angered by such a cold response, but bit back his tongue as he then realized how truly pained Amera was over what had passed between her and the Steward's Son, for while she was often sarcastic, her silver tongue was never truly venomous, save for now. "Legolas, go talk to Aragorn."

"But why?"

He rolled his eyes, casting a forceful gaze towards the elf as he repeated, "Go talk to Aragorn."

The elf blinked and silently treaded away in obvious confusion. Once out of earshot, Gimli looked towards Amera once again and gently stated, "You know, lass, you can talk to me if you want."

Amera attempted a wavering smile that quickly faded as she brushed her hair absently behind her ear, quietly replying, "I wish not to trouble you with such foolishness, Gimli."

"Amera," Gimli nodded firmly as he held his gaze to her, "I care about what plagues you because we are friends, and from the sense I've gotten, you haven't exactly had many of those in your life, have you?"

She was silent for a long moment, glancing downward briefly before issuing a small nod in reply.

"Well, as a friend, we've a sort of unspoken agreement, which means that we tell each other things and try resolve what worries us. That make sense to you, lass?"

Amera blushed slightly and nodded, softly replying, "It does."

Gimli carefully raised a hand to absently stroke his beard for a moment before gesturing to her, "Love's not supposed to be easy, you know that, don't you, Amera?"

She stumbled at this, her face turning crimson as she looked horrified and opened her mouth to reply, but was silenced as Gimli absently waved a hand, "We all know, lass." He grinned at her, "If you've been meaning ta' keep it a secret from us, the fact that you two can't keep yer' eyes off each other was a bit of a giveaway. So, now that that's out of the way, how about you tell me what happened?"

He listened intently as she explained the situation, then perked a brow as she finished and questioned, "Well, last time I checked, you've got your king up ahead, lass, go have him revoke the penalty."

"It is not that simple, Gimli," She sighed deeply and looked at her feet as she walked, "Only the king of Gondor may abolish my banishment, but until Aragorn is coroneted beneath the White Tree, Elendil's crown placed upon his head, he only remains heir to the throne and has no power in the matter."

"And he knows this?"

"Yes, as does Gandalf."

"So why did you not tell Boromir?"

Gimli watched as Amera walked in silence, her eyes distant as he saw remorse flicker in them. Finally, her reply was so soft he had to strain to make out her words, "Because I did not want him to be burdened by the knowledge."

"Well, pardon me for thinking so," Gimli stroked his beard thoughtfully as he replied, "But isn't that a wee bit selfish of you? I should think, you two being as close as you are, that he's earned the right to share whatever is troubling you, don't you think?"

She swallowed hard and replied, "My heart is broken anew every time I think of it, Gimli." She sighed and her eyes grew distant once more, "I remember every minute of that day, the way the light streamed through the windows, of the way the breeze seemed so cold to my shoulder, the way it felt when my world was shattered because of my own pride."

"Then why don't you go tell him that, Amera?" She looked at him in confusion and he elaborated with a shrug, "Why don't you tell him how much it hurt you, lass? Why not be honest with him, open up to him and let him see your pain so he understands why you were so reluctant to bring it up, even if it's all these centuries later?"

Her voice sank to a whisper that trembled with repressed emotion and Gimli then saw the deep, agonizing pain as it flickered in her stormy eyes, kept hidden away beneath a thousand other burdens for so long and only now ripped to the surface as she replied, "I should not think it that easy, Gimli."

"I don't see why it needs to be difficult, Amera," He sighed, allowing a hint of frustration to creep into his voice, "Mind you, we dwarves understand the earth, what you can feel between your fingers and craft in forges, all that remains unchanged. So, even after all this, I don't quite understand just what exactly you are. I don't get how you're so old but look so young or how exactly you're made from water or whatever that sort of thing is, but I know," He gave a firm nod, "That you'd be a fool to let your past get in the way of your future, lass."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Aragorn watched as Boromir glanced over his shoulder with an angry sigh, his eyes focusing on Amera as she strolled beside Gimli behind them, her normally shining face somber as she led her horse over the rocky plains amidst the rest of the people of Rohan. She had been quiet ever since Gandalf's leaving the day before, he knew, but something had changed last night and whatever it had been, Boromir had been deeply impacted, as well.

While the captain of Gondor had never been one to favor smiling, his jaw had been firmly set for the duration of the day, his eyes rippling with hidden emotion as he had ridden onward. Aragorn knew that Boromir had thought the plan to leave for Helm's Deep to foolish, viewing the decision as an admittance of weakness and any weakness in his mind was a defeat. He had practically had to drag him away from Theoden earlier as the two had begun to argue yet again, their voices fiery as their words were cold. He had considered fetching Amera to intervene, but had quickly come to realize the two were avoiding each other for some reason or another. Both were exceptionally and infuriatingly prideful in their own ways; Amera as quiet as Boromir was vocal, but each suffering from this same flaw.

Aragorn had wished to question Boromir earlier, but had been interrupted by a shy Eowyn who had questioned him about both his age and past. He had seen Boromir listen intently from the corner of his eye as they rode on, taking further note of the history of the ranger who was to be king. There had been a silent understanding between the two ever since Amon Hen, a sort of subtle acknowledgment of respect between them both. It was not as if such as not been present before, but Aragorn had realized that Boromir no longer held question to his lineage, no longer doubted his true identity.

Once Eowyn had trailed behind to help a struggling woman with her children, Aragorn finally turned to his friend and questioned, "What troubles you, Boromir?"

"Nothing." His reply was swift and cold, providing further evidence that something was, indeed, troubling him.

"Speak, friend, for I would have your heart lightened." Aragorn quietly replied and Boromir shifted in his saddle, his auburn hair rustled by the chill breeze as it swept across the endless plains. He sighed softly and Aragorn could him struggle to word his emotions, finally settling with, "Amera has told me of her banishment."

Aragorn was silent for a long moment, then simply nodded in return.

Boromir bit his lip in anger, working to keep his voice down as he replied, "How could she not tell me, Aragorn? How could she not let me know that it was _my _ancestor who banished, who caused her such pain?" He swallowed hard and looked away, growling, "How could she tell _you_? Have you been the one who has dried her tears, who has tried to heal the scars left by her past, who has held her close as she trembles in nightmares? How could Amera tell you?"

Aragorn said nothing, his heart aching in longing for Arwen as he realized how truly and deeply Boromir loved Amera. He had never mentioned Amera in a romantic context, only speaking of her as a companion when questioned of it, Aragorn had seen the way Amera looked at him as they would pass each other. For a brief, split moment her eyes would shine with a glimmer of something he had never seen within her until of late, a sudden sheen of a joy unique to her flickering gaze. He knew that Boromir would sneak away to her room at night, but had never made mention of such. He had always wondered if perhaps Amera had cared more for Boromir than he of her, seeing in him the noble pride of the kings she had served so long ago and if Boromir, like nearly any man would given Amera's striking beauty, had simply returned her advances.

But now, he could see how truly distraught the normally unshakeable Boromir was over this matter, recognizing the great pain in his eyes, burden that fell upon his shoulders and the regret that haunted his smile. For better or for worse, Boromir truly did love the proud, equal parts shy and savage creature with those rippling, stormy eyes that was Amera.

Aragorn finally replied, his voice soft and even, "Though I wish not to excuse her actions, Boromir, I would have you know that it broke her heart even to tell me, to recount what was said unto her even after a thousand years."

"Then why would she not come to me, Aragorn?" He sighed, his anger fading to pain as he ran a hand absently through his hair, "Does she not trust me to share such a burden as this?"

Aragorn was quiet for a long moment, then shrugged and replied, "Have you thought that because she cared for you she did not wish for you to know further pain, pain that would surely come with such a realization?"

Boromir blinked at this, taking a deep breath as he stared off, his forest eyes scanning the distant peaks of jagged mountains as he appeared to take this in, finally murmuring, "I feel the weight of the mistakes of my ancestors upon my shoulders, Aragorn, knowing that what blood courses through my veins came from the one who banished Amera, who drove her from that which she had cared for and loved for an age, even if it was out of pride and fear." He turned to face his king then, bearing his emotions as he asked, "Can we ever truly escape the faults of our fathers, Aragorn? Are we doomed to ever follow in their footsteps?"

Aragorn had not the chance to respond for a sudden commotion broke out ahead and he tightened his reins as the shrill whinnies of horses echoing as men drew their swords, women and children shrieking as they ran past and away from the source of the chaos. He then heard the cry of "Warg riders!" ahead and drew his sword instinctively as Boromir did the same, his jaw setting firmly as his fingers tightened around the familiar grip of the pommel.

A moment later and Legolas sprinted past with the bewildering speed of the eldar, his bow at the ready as he hunted down the servants of Saruman. Gimli galloped beside Aragorn and he blinked in surprise as he saw Amera sharing the saddle with him, her dark hair streaming over her shoulder as he caught the glimpse of steel at her side.

"Amera, you must stay with the women!" Aragorn called over the dizzying chaos, struggling to be heard amidst the terrifying cries of both women and horses.

"What are you talking about?" She called back in obvious confusion, her eyes dark as she kept the horse at a steady pace, "I can fight, Aragorn, you know this!"

"The women will need protection, Amera! Stay with Eowyn and guide them to Helm's Deep!"

"I will be of no use here!"

"Amera!" He roared, losing his temper as time was wasted, "I command you to this!"

He saw the surprise and pain in her eyes as she froze, but slid from the saddle a moment later nonetheless, her jaw set as she turned to run back towards Eowyn and the women who sobbed in fear. However, Amera looked over her shoulder one last time as her feet effortlessly flew over the rocky ground, her flickering eyes meeting his own for a brief moment.

As Aragorn galloped away, he watched her eyes trail to Boromir, fear appearing in them as she watched the king she was bound to and the man she loved ride into a battle she could not partake in.


	14. What was Lost

Eowyn scrambled to unsheathe the sword she had hidden beneath her saddle bag, her fingers scraping the leather as she searched for the gentle chill of the leather grip as she shouted for the women around her to stay calm, struggling to raise her voice above the cries of horror and sobs of worry. With a quick grin of triumph, she loosed her sword and turned her full attention to the chaos that surrounded her, as riders galloped forward and left their wives and children trembling in their wake. Initially, she had prepared herself to ride out with Theoden, but had been told to guide the remaining citizens to Helm's Deep.

And to hurry.

She had swallowed angry words when the order had first been placed, but as the small hands of terrified children had grasped in desperation at her skirt, she knew that this was no time to argue. Still, she nodded to herself as she drew in a deep breath and wrapped her fingers tightly around her faithful blade, there was honor in defending those who could not protect themselves. The people around her ran as fast as their weary legs could carry them over the rocky terrain, hurrying towards the distant walls of their sanctuary as the sound of a battle rang out over the plains to the east. She searched for Amera as she ran, unable to find her familiar form amidst the others, and continued to call her name out as she guided the frightened around her.

Eowyn froze as the sudden, sharp cry of a child rang out over the chaos, looking left and right in desperation as she searched for its source. She pushed aside the sprinting women as she struggled through the crowd, nearly tripping over that had been left behind as they ran. Her heart beat wildly in her chest as adrenaline rushed through her, but stopped as she finally located the child.

It was a small boy, no more than a child, who was trapped against one of the rocky outcropping, his back against the aged stone as he sobbed in fear. He clutched a tiny dagger in his hand, tears streaking his dirtied face as he stared at the warg and its rider that slowly closed in on him. Eowyn felt a small gasp escape her chest, for she had never seen a creature such as this and felt a great wave of terror rush through her as her eyes scanned the bristled fur that rippled over the warg's muscled haunches, the filthy claws that extended from slender paws and the hot, thick saliva that fell from its gaping fangs. The rider itself was even more horrible to her widening eyes, a leering grin stretched over yellowed fangs that rivaled its mouth, a skinny, dark body covered with foul markings and a crude, rusted spear that now extended towards the child as the warg prepared to pounce.

"Let him be!" Her voice rang out with accord its own, weaker than she should have desired as a distinct tremble echoed in it. The rider froze and immediately looked over his shoulder in confused as he tugged the reins of his foul steel, his eyes widening maliciously as they fell upon her. The warg turned and the child sprinted away, sobbing as he hurried to catch up with the mother that had left him behind in the confusion. Eowyn swallowed hard as the rider laughed with a high, hissing snarl as the warg began to tread towards her, growling as it bared its impossibly sharp teeth. She felt the sword waver as she held it out, her jaw set as she stared down her foe.

This was the moment she had waited for all her life, the moment she had trained for in the dead of night when robbed of sleep and comfort and had turned to practice with a blade to console her weary heart. This was the moment she had imagined so many thousands of times when she had swung her sword in the dark corners of Meduseld, defeating a thousand foes with each parry and thrust as she imagined herself to be one of the great warriors of legend. Of when she had imagined herself to be the Aeliniel upon the plains of Evendim, fighting to defend all that she loved.

With this thought, any fear was suddenly purged from her body as rage swirled through her veins, hot fury coursing through her as she stared down the enemy that had taken Theodred from her, had taken her parents and so many others who should have seen a thousand more bright mornings. She gave into this strange, long buried emotion and charged forward with a wild cry, the afternoon sun glinting off the steel as she swung with an intensity she did not know her slender arms could possess. Both warg and rider were caught off guard as the beautiful maiden roared a warrior's cry and Eowyn's blade found its way in the side of the warg as it attempted to dodge the swing. She ignored the hot blood that suddenly spilled over her pale hands as she withdrew the sword, crying out yet again as she slashed at its hindlegs and cut through sinewed muscle and bone.

The warg howled and tripped, its rider flying forward as she took advantage of the creature's agony and buried the blade into its ribcage. It shrieked and writhed in pain as it fell to the side, Eowyn stumbling forward as the enormous body suddenly tilted to the side. She cried out in frustration as she tried to free her sword from the ribcage of the warg, but found it hopelessly stuck despite her frantic efforts. A sudden shriek of fury pierced her ears and she gasped as the rider began to sprint towards her holding a broken spear in its gauntleted hands as it howled. She was frozen then, unable to move, to defend herself and closed her eyes as she prepared for her end, but blinked as she heard a cry of pain instead.

She opened her eyes and blinked in utter surprise as the goblin staggered in pain, its skinny arms waving helplessly as it reached to free the sword embedded in its back. Another moment and Amera suddenly appeared as she galloped towards the foul creature, sliding off of her horse with an almost serene grace as she retrieved her sword with a mighty pull. Eowyn marveled at how calm she looked, almost _bored _as her hands gripped around her sword, her foot snapping into the goblin's spine as she pulled her weapon from its back mercilessly. The goblin wailed and its cries pained her ears, but Eowyn was nonetheless finally able to free her bloodied sword from the side of the warg, watching silently as Amera's blade sliced effortlessly through the goblin's neck. A few drops of dark blood splattered her pale face as the body convulsed and fell to the side, the head rolling by her feet. Amera's revealed no emotion that Eowyn could see, save for a strange fire that flickered in her stormy eyes.

But suddenly, another warg jumped down behind Amera from the rocky outcropping that towered over them, snarling as it prepared to pounce upon the unsuspecting woma. Eowyn roared Amera's name and ran forward as her friend's eyes opened wide in confusion. Her hand reached around the broken spear of the warg rider as she sprinted forward and as Amera rolled to the side, she threw it forward with an impassioned cry. The spear flew true and buried itself in the warg's neck as the creature howled. Amera rose and savagely thrust her sword into its side, turning her head as dark blood splattered against her dress.

Their eyes met briefly and Eowyn ran towards Amera as the dying creature beside her twitched its last, her chest heaving as adrenaline soared through her. Amera nodded to her and tilted her chin towards the terrified horse that stood beside her, swiftly explaining, "Lead them onwards, Eowyn, and I will guard the back."

Eowyn nodded and quickly mounted the horse, running a calming hand against its neck as trembled. She looked over her shoulder at Amera once more and took note of how tired she look as she ran a hand through her hair, dark crimson staining her pale fingers. However, the luxury of further observation could not be afforded and she dug her heels into the sides of the horse, leaving Amera behind as she guided her people towards the safety of Helm's Deep.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Amera sighed with relief as she dipped her hands into the bucket of water one of the women had fetched, closing her eyes in simple joy as she felt the familiar chill swirl around her fingers. She scrubbed her hands together as the sounds of the now crowded streets of the sanctuary echoed around her, the voices of women, children and horses blending together as the people of Rohan struggled to settle into their temporary home. They would not be comfortable yet, no, they would be no true sense of security until their husbands and sons passed through the gates, their swords and spears stained with the blood of Saruman's riders as they returned from battle.

With only a momentary pause, she dipped her hands once more into the now murky water and raised the water to her face. She closed her eyes as it flowed over her features, cleansing away the filth of battle with a gentle, familiar coolness. She allowed herself to bask in strange combination of the evening sun as it warmed her and the water as it tingled against her face, then wipe her face off with the back of her sleeve as she tied her hair back with a piece of cord. She absently dried her hands against her hips as she carefully made her way through the crowd, standing on her tiptoes to try and find Eowyn's fair hair amidst the hustle and bustle.

She spotted her a few minutes later and carefully made her way up a steep set of stone stairs to the top tier of the fortress, an enormous statue of a fierce warrior wielding a hammer set in the center of the little courtyard, staring out at the plains and mountains that spread out before him. And beneath this status stood Eowyn, her fair hair blowing around her shoulders as she was still. Amera saw the familiar stains upon her hands and was quiet as she approached her, following her gaze as they both searched for the forms of those they cared for appear in the distance.

"You fight well, Eowyn." She murmured softly, offering a gentle nod as she stood beside the woman.

Eowyn feigned a small smile at this, her eyes never leaving the plains as she whispered her reply, "I could not retrieve my sword, Amera."

Amera shrugged at this, crossing her arms over her slender chest as she leaned back against the base of the great statue, swallowing a quick wince as her scars flared at the sudden chill. "The first time I even attempted to handle a sword I nearly cut off my foot, and besides," She turned to the women and gently continued, "I owe my life, Eowyn. No matter how you believe you handled yourself, I am indebted to you."

"And I to you," Eowyn stated softly and there was a pause as both women strained to stare out over the plains, but the silence was broken as Eowyn quietly continued, running the tip of her tongue nervously over her lips, "May I ask something of you, Amera?"

Amera shrugged again, running a hand absently through her tangled curls. "Of course."

Eowyn then turned to her and Amera felt her eyes search her, though not unkindly, as if they searched for a hidden source as she spoke, "How were you so calm, Amera? My…my heart felt as though it would beat out of my chest." She closed her eyes as she remembered and Amera watched silently, "I could not think, could not speak. All I knew was the blade in my hand and it was terrifying, yet you looked bored, Amera. You were so calm, as if it was nothing but a minor hindrance, the potential to die. How," A pause, "How can you be so brave?"

Amera was quiet for a long moment, then smiled very faintly as she faced Eowyn, "What strength lies within me was tempered by blood and fire. I am not a warrior, despite what the legends may say, nor do I yearn for the rush of battle, but I do what is required of me."

"Then why did you leave Rivendell with the others?" Eowyn inquired, "Surely that was not asked of you."

Amera was quiet for a long moment, then smiled with genuine contentment as she softly replied, "For better or for worse, I followed my heart."

A sudden cry rang out from beneath them, for the riders had finally returned. Eowyn and Amera both gathered their dresses as they sprinted down the strenuous stairs out of want for swiftness, as opposed to propriety. Amera bit her lip, her hands kneading into trembling fists by her sides as she scanned the riders for any sign of her friends, her heart pounding as she could not help but take note of how severely injured some of the riders appeared to be and overall, how few had returned. Weary men and their mounts trotted past as they sought rest and care amongst their families and as the line of riders grew steadily thinner, Amera felt a paralyzing fear grow within her, tying her stomach into knots and numbing her senses as she waited.

She nearly collapsed with relief as she finally spied the fair hair of Legolas, shining against the high sun as he and Gimli trotted forward. Theoden was beside them and she was Eowyn bound forward from beside her, though she paid no attention to her words as she awaited Boromir and Aragorn.

Amera sobbed with gentle relief as she caught sight of Boromir's shield behind a tall mare, rushing through the small crowd. She froze as her eyes fell upon the dark blood that glistened on his right cheek, three deep claw marks scratched along his cheekbone. However, one she realized such a wound was not too harmful, she ran forward with absolute abandon and threw himself into his arms, breathing in the familiar scent of him as she kissed his neck and chest in absolute relief.

She looked up as Boromir was silent, unmoving as she embraced him. His eyes were glassy with pain, which she understood, but there was something else there, some distance that she did not understand. She whispered his name in confusion but he was silent, his jaw trembling as he held it firm, staring blankly through her.

Amera then realized that the line of riders had emptied into Helm's Deep, all that had survived had passed beyond her, and there was no sign of Aragorn.


	15. What was Found

"Where is Aragorn?"

The faint tremor is Amera's voice wounded Legolas as he watched her slowly step back from Boromir, her eyes narrowed as if in suspicion as she stared up at them. The ride from the battlefield have given the elf time to quell the emotions that raged within him with an intensity that startled him, unnerved him as they had silently finished the journey to Helm's Deep. Boromir had taken the news that hardest, though Legolas's keen vision had spied the tears that had sprung up in Gimli's dark eyes as they had stared over the ravine and into the raging waters that had carried their companion away. Gimli had stared in profound silence, his axe slipping from his hand and clanging against the rocky ground as the enormity of what had happened slowly began to ring true in their hearts.

Boromir was silent now, his eyes distant as he simply stared ahead through Amera as she stood before him, so different from the furious roar that had escaped his throat as he drove his sword through the corpse of a warg in fury, his chest heaving as his eyes blazed. Theoden, too, had been mournful, though he had not the same bond as the other members of the Fellowship had with Aragorn and as so had left them to grieve privately as they finished the last stage of the journey.

But Amera, Legolas's heart fluttered with pity as he looked down to her and saw the wild fear in her eyes, the disbelief as she slowly repeated, "Where is Aragorn?"

And it was silent, for none present wished to announce what had happened, because to speak it would make it true and if it was true it was irreversible. There could be no hope.

"Amera," Gimli finally stated from behind Legolas, his voice soft with pity, "Aragorn will not be returning."

"_No._" Amera snarled, startling all that surrounded her as her eyes flashed and she seemed almost to bare her teeth as she shook her head. She swallowed hard, her chest rising and falling as she clutched a hand over her heart, "I would have known…I…I," Her hands began to tremble as she challenged, "I would have _felt _something."

Boromir slowly took a step forward, saying nothing as he reached out a hand to comfort her. She recoiled violently at this, her stormy eyes wild as she shook her head again, taking a step back as she hissed, "You're _wrong_."

"He is dead, Aeliniel," Theoden's strong voice echoed against the stone walls as he addressed Amera for the first time. Legolas could see the pity in his face as he gazed down at her, but his voice was steady as he finished, "Aragorn will not return."

Amera became very pale at this and froze, her shoulders visibly trembling as her gaze met with that of Theoden's. A moment later and she swayed precariously, as if about to faint and Boromir lunged to steady her. However, she brushed him away and swallowed hard, her jaw trembling as she steadied herself. She closed her eyes and simply stood for a moment as Eowyn's eyes filled with tears beside her as she too was struck with sudden understanding. Amera then turned, her eyes still closed as her face reveal no emotion, as blank as the statue of her that rested in the halls of his father in Mirkwood. She said nothing as she walked away, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders as she disappeared into the crowd that swelled against the narrows streets and alleys of Helm's Deep.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Helm's Deep was silent save for the occasional crack of thunder and fierce pattering of raindrops against the aged stone walls as a thunderstorm had rolled in from across the plains earlier that evening. The night air was chill as it swept against him, stirring his hair around his face as he stared blankly ahead at the sleeping figures packed into the small hall. He had desperately attempted rest earlier, but his churning emotions had robbed him of the sleep he so desired.

Every time Boromir closed his eyes, he saw Aragorn ride past him once more, his kingly head held high as his sword had glittered silver and crimson in the afternoon light. There was no crown upon his noble brow, only the marks of worry and battle as he had ridden past with fierce eyes. Boromir then saw the swirling waters once more as he had searched for any sign of his king, of his friend in the rushing river so far beneath them. He thought at first, without truly realizing it, that perhaps the river had taken mercy on Aragorn, that the dark waters had gently cradled his fall and bore him softly to the riverbank, that Amera's spirit had somehow channeled itself into that from which she was born, her element, and had shown him mercy.

But it had not been so.

Boromir sighed and angrily ran a hand through his hair. He had longed for strong drink earlier to quell the pain, if only for a little while, but he knew such was not the answer. They each suffered differently, Legolas more distant and reserved than ever as he aimlessly walked through the stone corridors and streets while the dwarf had angrily taken to sharpening his axe, seemingly discontent with its razor edge as he endlessly continued to work upon on it. Even now, or so he had been told earlier by Gimli, Amera's grief had taken her to the walls of the fortress and the stuffed targets that had been placed there for anyone who wished to practice with blade or bow, refusing to even acknowledge the presence of another.

His heart yearned for her then, with an intensity that robbed him of breath as he recalled the disbelief, the refusal in her eyes as she had been told of Aragorn's loss, of how her soft lips had trembled as she became so terribly pale. In that moment, he knew had seen her heart break, her world shatter into a thousand pieces and gather around her feet.

Boromir rose and pulled his cloak around his shoulder, raising the hood over his head as he left the hall behind and ventured out onto into the pouring rain, blinking back the wind as its intensity stung his eyes. He walked carefully as he searched for her, each step cautious lest he slip upon the slick stone as he ventured across the walls of Helm's Deep. The moon was hidden behind thick, frothing clouds, the only light to guide his path being the occasional flash of distant lightning as it was swiftly followed by a strong roll of thunder that echoed against the surrounding mountains.

He spotted a few minutes later but kept to the shadows, lest her keen eyes spy him even in the midst of the storm as he watched her. Amera was thoroughly soaked, her black hair plastered to her shoulders and face as the lightning glittered wickedly off of her flashing sword as she attacked the stuffed target with a ferocity that startled him. Her gown clung tightly to the angles and curves of her form that were so alluring to him, the sharp peak of her shoulder blades twisting and moving as her sword danced through the air, but he could see her exhaustion as she fought it. Her arms trembled as she slashed the training dummy, her chest heaving as she was seemingly oblivious to the wild storm that surrounded her.

Any trace of the gentle Aeliniel, the Amera with a shy, fleeting grin and soft eyes was gone, replaced by the merciless cold of the Dagorwen as she obliterated the target with eerie precision, her blade slashing effortlessly through the straw and burlap that held the target together as even now she struggled to stand, her shoulders slumping as each attack stole more of what little energy she had left. He watched her silently for a few more minutes, his heart urging him to her while his mind recalled the night in Meduseld, of the anger that had arisen in him as he learned of the secret she had kept from him.

Finally, her strikes came to an end as the target slumped helplessly in her wake, reduced to a mangled nest of hay and cloth that no longer more any resemblance to the torso, shoulders and head it once had been. He froze, pressing himself tightly to the wall and shadows as she suddenly turned, certain that he had been discovered. She walked silently through the tempest that roared around her, her eyes flashing by lightning as the wind streamed her dark hair around her sharp features. As her blade rested by her side, gripped tightly by a pale hand, Boromir was reminded of the feral power that she truly was, of the Dagorwen that seemingly battled against the Aeliniel, of the gentle that challenged the harsh within her. She strode forward, her face blank as he caught a brief glimpse of her bare feet as they glided over the stone walkway, but he held his breath as she suddenly stopped but a few feet before him.

She closed her eyes and the mask slipped away as he saw her pain in her features, the trembling lip and set jaw. A moment passed and without any warning, she whirled around and hurled her sword through the rain, so swiftly it was put a flash amidst the darkness as it streaked with unnatural precision towards her target. He drew in a sudden breath as the dummy burst apart by the force of the blade as the few fibers that had held it together were torn asunder, straw and burlap exploding as her sword clattered against the slick stone.

Amera then turned to look over the stormy plains, her shoulders heaving as her hands fell to her sides and cried out into the rain and thunder with absolute abandon, "_You said I could do this!" _Boromir's heart broke for her as he watched her wait helplessly for a reply that they both knew would not come. There was a crack of lightning and her voice was filled with anger and pain as she cried out once more, "_You said you believed in me! You said I was strong enough!"_

Amidst the pouring rain and reckless wind, he heard a sob escape her lips as she roughly fell to her knees, her head lowering in shame, repeating once more as her voice battled the elements that roared around her, "_You said you believed in me and I __**failed**__!_"

Amera looked so immensely broken then, so fragile as she wept openly into the tumultuous night, her hair swirling around her pained features as her shoulders rose and fell, that Boromir knew he could no longer watch. What had happened between them in the past mattered not as he ran to her, because he needed her more than anything else in that moment. He wrapped his cloak around her as pulled her close as he knelt beside her, wrapping his arms around her trembling, delicate body as she sobbed in absolute despair. She rested her head against his chest as he sheltered her from the fierce rain and elements, burying his lips in her soaked curls as he felt his own tears mingle with the raindrops that coursed down his cheeks.

He could feel the angles of her bones as he held her close, the muscles in her slender form moving beneath his hands as she wept and he whispered her name to her, closing his eyes as throat burned from tears he had held back. As he held her, any trace of the strange, ageless grace of the Aeliniel was gone, the fierce pride and strength of the Dagorwen buried beneath heartbreak and sorrow. In his arms was only Amera, who he loved with an intensity that stole his breath.

"I failed, Boromir, I failed." She repeated over and over again and he shook his head, unable to speak as he pulled her tightly to him. "This was my second chance," She sobbed, burying her head almost childlike against his broad chest, "This was to be my redemption and I _failed_."

There was a pause and he heard the tremor in her voice as she whispered, "I thought I could be strong enough, could save him, Boromir, but I failed and now," Her voice finally cracked, "My king is _dead_."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Amera wept as she finally spoke that which broke her heart, finally admitting the truth that shattered her soul with an unbearable grief that robbed her of breath. The wind and rain pounded against her back with enough force to cause pain, but she ignored it as she curled against the familiar strength that was Boromir as he held her close. She felt his chest rise and fall beneath her head and knew that he too was unable to hold back his sorrow, his heart racing a steady beat.

She would never see Elendil's crown placed upon Aragorn's noble brow, never see the quiet pride in his noble eyes as he was coroneted before the White Tree, atop the marble city his ancestors had built from the rough mountainside. She would never run once more through the quiet courtyards of her fair city, never run her fingertips along the familiar dusty tomes and ancient statues of Annuminas. She would never know the excitement of meeting young princes, who shyly looked at her as their fathers laughed and told them that the creature before them would one day serve them.

There had been pain, though, sometimes great as kings had leered at her, had blessed themselves before appearing before her lest them fall beneath her 'spell'. Drunken, weak rulers with no concern save for the gold in their coffers and the women that waited in their beds had visited her and looked at her with a desire that had both terrified her and infuriated her. For as often as she had been loved, had been regarded as a counselor and reminder of the pride and strength of Gondor, she had been rejected and abused, labeled a witch and a freak, left alone for decades to care for a city forgotten by the very ones for whom she preserved it.

But still, no matter whether she was greeted with welcome or scorn by the kings she served, her duty remained unchanged.

And now her duty was broken, for the line was broken and with the passing of Aragorn, son of Arathorn, there also passed the hope that the true king would once more rest upon the throne of Gondor.

Without warning, Boromir suddenly pulled her face to his and snared her lips in a rough, desperate kiss with a ferocity that startled her. His fingers ran through her tangled hair and ran over her jaw and neck as he kissed her with a passion she had never known before, a sudden, absolute desperation. A moment later and he broke the kiss, resting his forehead against her own as he cradled her face in his calloused hands, raindrops coursing over the three lines that now scarred his right cheekbone as his proud eyes blazed.

"I do not know what will come, Amera. I know not what strife lies before us, what darkness awaits us, but I swear to you," He swallowed hard, his jaw set with determination as he whispered fiercely, "You have not failed. You are needed, Amera, more than ever, for though we may not have a king," There was a tremor in his voice at this, "we still need hope."

His fingers traced along her jaw as he looked deeply into her eyes, his own brimming with tears as the wind and rain swept around them, "And no matter what may come, Amera, I will always love you. If nothing else, find your strength in that."

Amera's voice finally cracked as fresh tears streaked down her face, "I love you, Boromir."

And they kissed beneath the dark, rippling clouds and flashes of distant lightning upon the cold, stone walls of Helm's Deep as the wind roared around them, losing themselves in each other as the sweetness of the rain water was mingled with the saltiness of their tears as it passed over their lips.


	16. Out of Suffering

_Boromir choked back the ragged sob that threated to escape his throat, his chest heaving as he blindly ran through the halls of the citadel. Tears streamed down his face and he thought them poison as he angrily rubbed the sleeve of tunic against his face, though nothing would stop the torrent as the world streamed around him, flashes of white and blue and grey as he made his way deeper and deeper into the vaults of the library. _

_ He tore through the occasional spiderweb with a wave of his hand, the ancient tunnels silent save for his footfalls. Boromir tried desperately to erase the images of his mother from his mind as his father had wept at her side, how his shoulders had shaken as he locked his fingers with her pale, cold own. The faint, small smile that had often pressed into his hair, the soft voice that reminded him to do his chores and not to bother the guardsman…all of it was gone._

_ And it was not fair._

_ In his grief, his father had roared for Boromir and Faramir to leave as he had knelt at her unmoving side, her hair fanned about her head as she had laid so perfectly still that Boromir had at first thought her to be sleeping. Faramir had been motionless, his eyes wide with disbelief as he watched his father grieve, stepping forward slowly as if unsure of what was truly happening. Boromir trembled, his throat and eyes burning with a renewed intensity as he fled farther and farther away from the familiar halls and deeper into the tunnels, wishing to escape everything as he remembered how his father had lashed out at his younger brother, a blind rage in his eyes as he spat for Faramir to leave, to be gone._

_ Faramir had trembled at this, his small lip quivering as Boromir had wrapped his arms around him, wishing nothing more than to shelter him from the pain as they ran from the room. He had felt the delicate bones of his brother shake as he had sobbed into Boromir's shoulder and had been strong, had bitten back the cries that threated to pour from his own throat so that Faramir might have one thing to hold onto in his grief and pain, might have one security in all this._

_ Faramir had eventually fallen asleep out of sheer exhaustion, his little body unable to take the weight of grief any longer, and Boromir had carefully carried him back to his room and tucked him beneath the silk sheets. He had watched his brother curl into a small ball, his brown curls falling over his tear-streaked face as he had nuzzled into the pillow. It was then that he allowed himself to feel the pain of his mother's death, to unlock the grief he had kept within his heart for the sake of his brother._

_ And so it was that he had blindly run to a place where no one would search for him, had sought refuge in the dusty tunnels of the library amidst the cobwebs and flickering torchlight. The hall before him swam through his weeping eyes as he gave into his pain and hurt, turning a corner and falling against the wall as he sobbed openly. He closed his eyes, resting his head against the dusty marble as his shoulders heaving as his weeping broke the peace in the silent corridors around him. He stumbled forward, his weight uneven as his head pounded with the intensity of his grief, and blinked in confusion as he saw a dusty statue at the end of the hallway, its features obscured beneath a thick layer of dust and webs as it flickered in the torchlight._

_ Confused, he looked over his shoulder and moved forward, desperate from something to help him ignore everything for but a moment. Boromir had rarely entered the library to begin with, for he found the smell of books rather disagreeable and much preferred the musk of leather and steel, but realized he had never been down this passage before. Roughly brushing away his tears, he approached the statue and looked up at it, brushing away the layers and layers of cobwebs as his tears slowed momentarily. A few minutes later and, to his surprise, he found himself staring into the marble face of a young woman._

_ Minas Tirith was adorned with hundreds of intricate sculptures, but women were rarely cast into marble and even amongst those, he had never seen such a detailed creation as the one that stood before him, rivaling even the ancient kings that lined the throne room from atop their pedestals. She was younger than his mother, but just as fair; waves of hair falling over delicate shoulders captured within marble. A faint smile covered her beautiful features, her hands turned out as if in greeting as they rested by her slender hips. His eyes trailed the intricate swirls of her gown down to her unclad feet, then searched once more to her face as if he might find some clue to her identity. He searched the base of the statue for some mark or title, but found none._

_ It then occurred to him, in the back of his mind, that perhaps this had been the woman his mother had regaled Faramir with tales of, much to Boromir's embarrassment as he had turned on his side and buried his head in the pillow, for real men of Gondor did not need tales of women before their bedtimes. At this thought, the fresh grief welled up once more inside him, furious with himself for the times he had told his mother that he was too old for such stories, that he need not be bothered with her._

_ And now, he would give anything just to hear her soft voice once more, would do anything for one last tale as she ran her fingers through his hair and whispered her love. _

_ He had not the strength to hold back his tears and fell to his knees, resting his face against the base of the statue as he wept emptily, calling out for his mother with reckless abandon as his broken voice rang through the abandoned halls. However, even in his sorrow, he felt some strange comfort as his hand reached to brush with that of the statue's, sensing some pity in the marble eyes of the maiden before him, some hope in her faint smile. _

_ He was certain that his eyes deceived him, for the torchlight cast flickering shadows that danced across the swirled marble of the statue's serene features, but for a moment he thought he saw something like tears course down her face. He imagined as he wept, his fingers clutching her cold feet, that the maiden also wept for what had been taken from him, for the small light that had been too soon extinguished. _

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Boromir blinked slowly, surprised by the morning rays that streamed down upon him as he shifted to look down at Amera. It seemed only a few hours ago that he had carried her fragile form into the keep and managed to find an empty corner to rest in for the remainder of the night as sounds of the tempest echoed through the narrow halls. Not surprisingly, she had been asleep by the time he carefully laid her down, having passed the point of exhaustion long ago, but his heart had swelled as she had rested her head upon his chest as he lay beside her, curling up beside him even as she slumbered, as if it were some sort of instinct while he lifted his cloak to cover them both.

But now, the sun had already risen into the sky and he wished nothing more than continue to lay beside her, to feel the welcome weight of her head rise and fall with his chest, but much needed to be attended to as the great shadow of battle loomed ever closer over the copper plains. He ran his fingers absently through Amera's hair as he looked down at her, watching her dark lashes tremble briefly at the movement, and he knew that she would persevere. It would be difficult, for while the weight of grief was nearly too great to bear even for him, it was certainly more so for Amera. Yet, he gently pressed his lips into her tousled curls, Amera would fight on as ever she had against pain she should never have known.

With a quiet sigh, he shifted and slipped his hands beneath Amera's delicate form as he maneuvered her as gently as he could, smiling with relief and contentment as she did stir as he rose. He straightened his robe, which he noted glumly was still yet damp in a few spots, and looked down upon her once more with a faint smile as he watched her shift absently, murmured words escaping from her mouth as she pulled his cloak tightly around her. She looked so profoundly peaceful, almost childlike as her tangled curls fell around her pale features that he was finally content to leave her, assured that she would be alright when she awoke.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"How are we supposed to train soldiers, Gimli," Boromir growled, his jaw set as he sighed deeply, "When all I see before me are nervous children and weary elders?"

Gimli looked down at this, clearly equally frustrated as he ran a hand through his beard and leaned against the wall, "Just show them the basics, lad, they're not askin' for much."

"The basics?" He snorted at this, "If by basics you mean how to so much as _grip _a sword, then I have to agree." He then winced as a bit of pain flared up in his cheek along the three jagged lines that now moved along his cheekbone, holding a hand up as he grimaced. The wound had been cleaned and had been less severe than he had first thought, for the warg's rough claws had dealt him an incredible amount of pain as it has slashed out at him, but nonetheless he would be marked with scars.

An alarming number of Theoden's finest had perished during the skirmish on the plains or were too wounded to be of any use and Eomer's riders could be scattered anywhere across Rohan, he knew. Boromir had nonetheless assumed, when a nervous looking captain had asked him to help inspect the soldiers yesterday, that there were be a decent amount of those prepared for the battle. Instead, his spirits had plunged as his eyes had wandered over the rows of the feeble and terrified, some clad in battered steel no doubt handed down by their fathers and others clad in weathered leather.

As he had looked over them, Boromir had struggled to keep the growing despair out of his eyes as his gaze fell upon their crude swords, rusted and worn to the point where he genuinely doubted their very ability to cut through parchment, much less pierce the heavy armor of Saruman's army. He had known that the Rohirrim would not even compare to the seasoned veterans he had commanded in Gondor, their swords shining proudly in the light as the banners emblazoned with the White Tree had swirled above their heads as they charged forth, nothing could have prepared him for the absolute despair that washed over him as he realized how profoundly _doomed_ the men of Rohan were. He all too well known the might of the Uruk-Hai, knew the strengths of their blows and the merciless frenzy of their battle and against such, the people of Rohan had no hope.

Boromir then glanced towards Legolas, who had been silent this entire time, his focus seemingly entirely on his bow as he ran slender fingers along the intricate swirls engraved into the wood. Rather angered by the elf's perceived lack of interest, he tilted his chin and said roughly, "And you, Legolas, have you nothing to say on the matter?" Legolas simply stared and Boromir's lip curled as he slammed his hands against the wall, his voice rising, "Care you nothing for the plight of us mortals?"

Legolas' pale eyes briefly flickered with anger and went to stride towards Boromir, but Gimli quickly jumped between the two, holding his hands up as he intoned, "Calm yourselves, friends. Now's not the time for such disagreements."

Boromir sighed angrily and ran a hand through his hair, looking away as he bit the corner of his lip and replied lowly, "Forgive me, Legolas. I meant not my words." Before the elf could reply, Boromir turned and strode away, desperate for fresh air and a moment to clear his head.

He walked out of the hall and up the stone stairs, breathing in the afternoon air as he reached the final tier of the fortress and looked out over the plains with a deep exhale. He rested his hands against the stone wall, his heart yearning for what lay in the distance amidst the proud mountains, their white peaks glistening beneath the bright sun. Boromir wondered what had become of the men he had led into battle, their dirtied faces looking up to him with the dark gleam of battle in the eyes, and of his father, and of Faramir…

He blinked as he heard quiet footsteps, glancing over his shoulder as he searched for its source. Much to his surprise, his gaze fell upon a young girl who appeared to be reaching the brink of adolescence, wide green eyes staring nervously up at him as flaxen hair tumbled over her shoulders. Her fair face was smudged with dirt and he detected a small bruise on her cheek, but perked a brow as he noticed the battered sword she held out to him with trembling hands that struggled to keep the weight.

Boromir immediately knelt and helped her steady the blade, tilting his head as he questioned, "You need to be careful, little one, a sword is not a toy."

"I…I wanted to ask you something, my lord." She whispered, then lowered her gaze as she gnawed the corner of her lip, clearly nervous as her gaze fell to the floor.

He smiled gently at this, taking her chin into his hand as he guided her gaze towards his own. "What's your name, dear?"

"Taryneth, my lord," She nodded proudly, tilting her chin up as she feigned confidence, "Daughter of Durnston."

"Well, Taryneth," He grinned a bit, nodding to the sword as he carefully took it from her hands, "I believe you need to return this to your brothers or your father."

She lowered her gaze once again and he saw a deep sadness in her vibrant eyes as she whispered, "My father and brothers are dead, my lord." He watched as she swallowed hard, lifting her gaze to meet his as she nodded, "That's why I need your help."

"I…I fear do I do not understand, Taryneth."

Her quiet voice rose slightly, trembling with anger as she stated, "The men won't let me train with them. How am I to protect my mother and sister if no one will help?"

Boromir was quiet for a long moment, touched by the quiet determination of the girl as she continued, "And I've seen you with the Aeliniel," She nodded furiously, a little grin appearing across her face, "I figured since you know her, so you can teach me!"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Amera smiled softly as she leaned against the pillar, watching as Boromir looked around cautiously, then helped the girl wrap her hands around the hilt of the blade. She wavered, unused to the sudden weight and he laughed as he helped to steady her, kneeling beside her as he helped her through the motions of parrying and thrusting. The girl grinned up at him, her eyes wide as she watched the sword shine in the light, both nervous and thrilled as she no doubt learned what the others had refused to teach her.

It was out of suffering, she knew then, that such hope was born.


	17. Extra Scene?

Author's Note: Ok, so this isn't a real chapter, but rather sort of deleted scene that didn't make it into to the Edoras chapters. My friend requested that I put it in because she really liked it, but please keep in my this is a rough draft and therefore doesn't have the amount of polish I normally require of my work. Anyway, enjoy!

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Boromir sighed, sleepily running a hand through his hair as his crept through the chamber, making sure not to wake the rest of the Fellowship as he avoided stepping on them as best he could. He paused for a moment as he glanced down at Gimli, marveling at how so small a creature could manage to make so much noise, for his snores had robbed Boromir of any sleep as they echoed through the room. Their party had been given blankets and a spare room, which he suspected had once served as some sort of armory, in which they might rest. However, he quickly found that despite his exhaustion from the day's ride, he had been unable to fall asleep, sighing in frustration as he had shifted over and over again to try and make himself comfortable.

He had then realized that he had become so used to sleeping beside Amera that he inwardly yearned for the weight of her head upon his chest and that he missed the familiar scent of her curls, the comforting murmur as she yawned in her sleep and nuzzled his neck absently. He then felt a small pang of hurt as he realized that perhaps she did not feel the same, for she had not sought him out from the room she had been granted.

Stifling a yawn, he closed the door behind him and narrowed his eyes as he struggled to make out the layout of the hall, the dark wood reflecting the moonlight. He drowsily stumbled along, searching for any sight of Amera as he absently roamed the corridors of Meduseld. A few minutes later and he paused as a dark shadow flashed by from the corner of his eye, whirling around in confusion. He rubbed his eyes as he saw nothing, blinking repeatedly as he assured himself that his mind was not playing tricks on him. The shadow moved again, this time from the opposite side of the chamber and he whispered, "Show yourself!"

He flinched as he suddenly felt warm breath against his neck and turned swiftly, blinking and taking a step back as he found himself looking into the flickering eyes of Amera, illuminated by the pale moonlight. She grinned widely at him as he whispered, "How did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Move like that."

She winked, her eyes twinkling as she replied, "I can keep to the shadows if I wish, Boromir."

He rolled his eyes, stepping forward to press his lips against her forehead as he murmured, "I missed you." He smiled as he felt her lips brush his shoulder in return, closing his eyes in comfort as he wrapped his arms around her delicate form. "I beg of you, let me share your room this eve." He grinned slightly as he whispered, "I fear I can no longer suffer through Gimli's snoring."

"Well, you're in luck, then." Amera took a step back, tilting her chin to him, "I was actually coming to look for you."

Boromir grinned roguishly at this, but blinked as Amera suddenly turned and began to walk away without another word. He did his best to remain quiet as he caught up to her, embarrassed at the amount of noise he made compared to her silent footfall as she seemed to glide over the wooden floor. He tilted his head as she quietly opened the door to the outside, shivering slightly as the night breeze swept over him.

She perked a brow as she glanced over her shoulder, motioning for him to follow as she cast him an impatient look. "That's not your room!" Boromir hissed in reply, resisting yet another shiver.

Amera snorted at this, tossing her head slightly as she began to pad down the stairs. Boromir paused for a moment, then sighed as he followed her. Still, despite his discomfort and exhaustion, he could not help but grin as Amera's bare feet flew over the dirt paths ahead of him, her dark hair swirling around her shoulders as she moved with an effortless grace, almost dancing through the abandoned streets beneath the starlight. He watched her, his grin fading to a soft smile as he thought briefly of Luthien and understood then how Beren could be so in love at first sight, but the spell was broken as she motioned for him to move faster, rolling her eyes over his shoulder.

She approached a small shack, which look abandoned by its dilapidated state, and grinned widely as Boromir perked a brow, crossing his arms over his chest as the wind whispered through the sleeping city. A moment later and she had somehow effortlessly climbed to the roof, her motions inhumanly fluid as she scaled the wooden slats of the walls and swung herself up to the top. His jaw dropped and she waved a hand for him to follow, grinning mischievously down at him.

He stared at her for a moment, then stated plainly, "I cannot get up there, Amera."

"Yes, you can."

He rolled his eyes in frustration and growled, "And how exactly am I do to that?"

She tilted her head at him, struggling to hide a smirk, "Why, the same way I did."

A few minutes later, along with numerous curses and a knee that was certain to bruise the next day, Boromir had managed to make it to the roof, much to his disbelief. Amera quickly leaned over to kiss him, grinning as she pulled him beside her with a radiant smile. He blinked as he took notice of the startling amount of bottles that were carefully placed beside her, perking a brow as he questioned, "What have you got there?"

"Mead!" Her eyes lit up as she took a careful sip from one of the bottles, tilting her chin back briefly, then finished, "I've never had it before!"

"By the Valar, Amera," He whispered as he stared at her, "Won't Theoden miss all this from his stores? And besides, that's enough to kill the average man."

She shrugged lightly and he could only blink as he found a bottle suddenly in his hands, "He won't miss it at all and you're going to help me drink it, of course. And," she grinned wickedly, "I am not the average man, love."

Amused greatly, Boromir shrugged and took a small sip, closing his eyes as the welcome heat slid down his throat, then questioned, "May I inquire as to the reasoning behind your sudden love of mead, Amera?" He took another sip, making himself comfortable beside her as she laid down upon the thatch, "It's a common enough drink. I've had it at countless festivals and occasions."

She snorted slightly at this and he shifted to his side as he watched, her gaze never leaving the flickering heavens above as she softly retorted, "May I remind you, Boromir, that I spent nearly a thousand years in an abandoned city. I did not exactly frequent many occasions nor festivals. Besides," She smirked, taking another small sip, "It's so _good_."

"You're an idiot, Amera."

"Yet here you are beside me."

He grinned at this, setting down the mead to brush a lock of stray hair away from her face as she whispered, "Isn't it beautiful, Boromir? Look at it all."

He perked a brow at this, smiling as Amera's fingers move to intertwine with his own, "Had you no stars in Annuminas?"

She laughed softly and he marveled at her serene contentment, her features glowing with happiness as she looked up at the sky above, "Of course. In the summer, when the stars were brightest, I used to lie in the gardens and invent stories for the constellations," Amera blushed slightly, then continued, "Stories full of darkness and wickedness, of warriors and maidens and sorcerers." A pause. "That was a long time ago, though."

She set her mead aside and he smiled softly as Amera rested her head against his chest, moving an arm over her as she curled against him. "Do you see all those mountains in the distance, Boromir? See how they glisten in the moonlight."

He pressed his lips into her hair, "I do, love."

"See how the plains sway in the wind, how the stars flicker above us?"

He laughed softly and nodded, watching her closely as if to detect the source of her wonder.

"I spent so long behind walls, Boromir," Amera whispered softly, her eyes glistening as she looked out at the majesty before them. "My heart yearned for something more, to know what lay beyond Annuminas, beyond Evendim. And look at it, look how very _small_ we are."

He was quiet then and ran his fingers absently through her hair as she turned to look at him, a small, serene smile lighting her features as she whispered, "We are so very, very small against all of this, are we not? Only mere specks against earth and water."

Boromir looked into her stormy eyes for a long moment, watching as the wind swirled her dark hair around her shoulders as she looked to him. A moment later and his lips softly met her own as his eyes closed in absolute contentment and Amera's delicate fingers just brushed along the edges of his features. In that moment, as they kissed beneath the starlight, he wanted nothing more than to show her everything he knew, the fierce mountains of Ithilien and the gentle plains of Pelennor, the proud walls of Minas Tirith and the delicate gardens that lay within them.

And, as his arms wrapped around her, pulling her close as the kiss deepened, he vowed that one day he would.


	18. Farewells

_She opened her eyes with a sudden gasp and felt the cold, familiar earth beneath her body as the night air swirled around her. Sitting up, she blinked and looked around in confusion, instantly recognizing the willow that draped its leaves above her head like a gentle curtain and the roots that encircled her soft bed of grass, for she had rested there for nearly a thousand years. She slowly rose to her feet, swaying slightly as her legs steadied themselves, then narrowed her eyes and scanned the dark forest before her, casting her gaze over the roots and branches illuminated in the soft moonlight._

_ "Merry? Pippin?" She tried to call out as she spotted their tiny forms amongst the forest, staring at her with small smiles, but her voice was but a whisper. Swallowing hard, she tried to cry out once again but her words were carried away by the chill breeze as it swirled her tattered robes around her slender body. Without so much as a farewell, Merry and Pippin turned and disappeared into the shadows, walking further and further into the forest. Her heart pounded, for she knew they would not be safe, and she raced after them, bare feet silently streaking over root and fern as she fled deeper in Fangorn._

_ The forest around her whispered, ancient words in forgotten tongues that were bird song and rustling leaves, but no matter how fast she ran, Merry and Pippin were always just in front of her, blending into the darkness. The whisperings grew louder and louder until her ears ached, her chest heaving as her weary feet flew across the earth. She reached out to them, her pale fingers grasping for their cloaks, but suddenly tripped and fell heavily to the ground. She gasped, her ribs aching from the impact as she searched for the cause, running a hand through her tangled curls as she pulled her hair back from her face._

_ Her eyes widened as she stared at a battered crown, dented and dirtied as it lay upon the soft bed of grass. She recognized from the statues of Annuminas and knew it to be the crown of Elendil, the circlet that rested upon the heads of the kings of Gondor. It rested there, reflected but a shade of its true glory as such was hidden beneath dirt and grime. Her hands trembled as she reached out to it and she shivered as she felt the cool steel against her fingertips. She lifted it as delicately as one would a child, straining to cleanse it and restore it to its true majesty as she rubbed the tattered ends of her robes over the intricate patterns that spread across its surface. _

_ A sudden wave of heat rushed over her and she looked up in terror as the forest behind her burst into flames, the whisperings become shrieks and wails that broke her heart in their absolute desperation. She screamed as her scars rippled with pain but a moment later, her head tilting back as the intensity of the agony paralyzed her. The heat grew more and more severe, the flames growing fiercer and closer as the forest sobbed around her and she rose to her feet, the crown grasped by white knuckles as she sprinted._

_ She screamed for Merry and Pippin , her lungs and eyes burning from the smoke as the flames seemed to lick pads of her feet. She searched in desperation through the forest, her voice cracking in despair as she could not see them and knew the fire was roaring but a moment behind her. _

_ Spotting a gentle pond before her, she sobbed with relief and dove into the cool familiar, letting the icy chill rush over her burning skin as she plunged into the darkness. Bubbles rose from all around her and there was no light as she struggled to rise to the surface, her chest heaving as the crown threatened to slip from her fingers as she thrashed her arms. _

"Amera."

_She froze as the soft, broken voice of Nienna whispered to her from the darkness. Her eyes widened as a moment later the familiar tendrils of light banished the inky blackness that enveloped hair, swirling around her ankles and wrists as their gentle caress eased some of her pain. They glittered a delicate blue, glowing radiantly as they danced around her._

"Trust in me, Amera," _Nienna whispered once more, echoing through the water and Amera's eyes widening as the swirls of light sank into her skin, disappearing into her body as she felt a sudden surge or power run through her. _"Go now, with all haste that is afforded to you." _She gasped, her heart racing as she felt pure, effortless energy coursed through her veins, swirling through muscle as her body flickered from within. Her veins glittered as the pale, blue light spread and body trembled with the unfamiliar intensity, heat and nature and purity rippled through every inch of her. _

_ "_Trust in me, Amera," _the voice whispered, _"And through you the darkness will be banished."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Amera sat up as she gasped in desperate want of air, her eyes stinging as drops of sweat rolled from her forehead into her eyes as she blinked in absolute terror. She frantically ripped back the cloak that covered both her and Boromir, scanning her arms and fingers for any sign of the lights that had swirled beneath her skin, coursing through her like glittering veins. Upon seeing no marks across her flesh as the moonlight fell upon her, her dream slowly began to fade, its intensity carried away by the night breeze as it danced across her shoulders and neck.

There was a mumble from beside her and she felt Boromir stir, taking slow, steady breaths as she wiped her sleeve across her forehead and began to quiet her beating heart. She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled faintly as he rolled onto his side, burying his face into the extra cloak they had bundled together as a makeshift pillow. The pale light fell upon the fresh scars that ran jagged along his cheekbone, as fierce as he was, and ran a finger along his jaw as he grumbled incoherently and pulled the cloak further over him. Biting her lip, she stroked her fingers along the proud features of his noble face as the son of the Steward slept with a peace he was robbed of in his waking hours.

Then, the images of the dream flashed through her mind with an intensity that frightened her as she trembled, closing her eyes as she swallowed hard and sought to banish them. A moment later, she carefully slid from Boromir's side and rose, covering him carefully with the cloak and pressed her lips to his brow, wishing nothing more than to slumber beside him and feel the warmth of his strong body as his arms sheltered her from the chill, night air.

But it was not to be.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Amera, where have you been?" Boromir grumbled as he ran a hand sleepily through his hair, then perked a brow as he took notice of the bundle of supplies she had rested against the wall as she frantically gathered her belongings together, "And.._why?"_

Amera looked up, her eyes glittering with a strange light, but Boromir swiftly turned as a calm voice behind him stated, "You had a vision, did you not, Amera?"

Boromir looked back to Amera, who was still for but a moment, then went back to hurriedly packing all that was hers and felt anger rise in him. Casting his prior drowsiness aside, he cast a narrowed gaze to Legolas and growled, "I would rather hear such from Amera if it be true, friend elf."

"Aye, lass," Gimli grumbled, crossing his arms over his stout chest as he slowly approached, "I'd like an answer as to why Legolas is waking me up in the middle of the night and tellin' me we need to find ya'."

Amera ran a hand through her tousled hair, sighing deeply as the moonlight revealed the flush in her pale cheeks. Her voice was soft, almost a whisper as she tilted her chin to Legolas, "Could you sense it?"

"I could."

Boromir looked between the two, now more hurt than angry that Legolas understood the situation better than he did. He took note that Gimli appeared just as confused, practically swaying on his feet as his stifled a loud yawn with a calloused hand. "Come on now, Amera, How about you fill in the rest of you as to just what exactly's going on?"

"I…I need to leave for Fangorn." Her voice was soft and Boromir detected a tremor in it as she responded to Gimli, but met his gaze. "I know not why, but I cannot ignore such a call as this."

Silence.

"So, you mean to tell me you had a _dream_," Boromir walked forward, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he cast a careful glance over her, "About trees or something of the like, so you feel compelled to set out across the plains of Rohan, which are now doubt _crawling_ with Saruman's minions in the dead of night?"

He instantly regretted that he had let his hurt guide his words, for he saw the pain in Amera's pale eyes as she paused, then murmured lowly, "I did not ask for this, Boromir." He waited for her to elaborate, but her jaw was set as the breeze swirled her messied hair around her shoulders.

There was yet more silence, but it was broken as Gimli grunted, "Well, we should get started packing then, eh?"

The next hour was then filled with them scurrying about the fortress as best they could in order to help Amera prepare as quickly as possible. Boromir kept his anger to himself as he silently aided the others, watching as Amera seemed uncharacteristically jumpy, her fingers twitching by her sides as she moved with an urgency that almost alarmed him. She was constantly biting the corner of her lip or running her hands through her hair, her normal grace all but vanished. Even more confusing to him was the fact that she continued to stare at her hands and arms when she thought the others were not looking, her eyes narrowing as she seemed to almost be searching for something along the pale angles of her flesh.

He waited patiently as she said her farewell to Legolas, who smiled with a knowingness that raised Boromir's ire further, and as she accepted a long, warm embrace from Gimli who made her vow to be safe and keep her wits about her, even if he didn't understand what exactly she was doing. As the dwarf's loud footfall finally faded as he retreated back into the keep, Amera finally approached him.

There was a deep sadness in her eyes and despite his conflicting emotions, he found himself wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close, breathing in the scent of her hair as she kissed his shoulder and buried her face into the space between his chest and neck. They were still like this for a moment, but then Amera whispered her dream to him without his prompting, her voice trembling as she spoke of fire and water. She was silent when she finished and he knew not what to say, for he was equally bewildered. He had prided himself on never taking stock in legends nor magic, of tales of the unnatural and the fae, for his concerns were with stone and steel, that which he could touch and take and know to be real.

And Amera was none of this things, for she was all at once familiar and then unimaginably foreign. He had decided that one day, when all of…_this_ was over, he would try and understand the pale light that appeared in her stormy eyes, the strange grace that guided her motions and the lingering sadness behind her rare smile. But, until that day, should it ever come, Boromir was content with the quick, feral grin, tousled hair and proud tilt of jaw that was his Amera.

"I would not have you leave, Amera," He murmured to her as he rested his forehead against her own, closing his eyes and continuing, "I know not what is it become of Rohan in your absence."

She was silent and he felt her tremble as she whispered, her fingers reaching to brush gently along his cheek, "The Rohirrim should be honored to have such a valiant warrior of Gondor by their side when the battle arrives." Amera pressed her soft lips against his in a moment that stole his breath away, then finished, "_My_ captain of Gondor."

His heart raced at this and he was unable to keep the pride out of his voice as he pulled her closer, encircling her slender, familiar waist with his hand, "If I had my way, love, I'd never let you out of my sight."

Amera sighed at this, a faint smile appearing upon her face, "But such is a luxury not afforded to us, Boromir."

"Then I will dream of it." He kissed her deeply before she could reply, sighing as he felt her delicate hands brush over his chest and shoulders are she returned his motion. Boromir took note of every inch of her as they let their fears melt away, if only briefly, keeping to memory the gentle brush of her fingertips, the arches of her shoulder blades as they moved beneath his hands and the gentle moan that escaped her lips at his touch.

They remained like that for a few minutes, but Boromir did not protest as Amera gently broke the kiss and began to gather that which she needed for the journey. He walked beside her through the silent narrow streets as they approached the gates of Helm's Deep, surprised but warmed as Amera's fingers had laced with his own, humored that she had made no note or mention of it. They stepped outside the fortress as Amera saddled a horse and laced the reins carefully, then turned to him.

"Boromir, what are you…?"

"I want you to have these, Amera." He finished unlacing his bracers and handed them to her, the emblem of the White Tree glittered in the pale light. Her eyes widened as she briefly protested, then softened as he helped her adjust the leather cords to fit over her forearms. She ran a finger over the intricate swirls carved into the leather, then looked back up to him as he muttered simply, desperately trying to hide his emotions at her leaving. "Don't let this be that last time I see you, Amera."

She was still for a moment, her beautiful eyes flickering with absolute sadness, then she flung herself into his arms and kissed him deeply. He held her close, groaning at the desperation and need that her lips arose within him, holding her close as her hands brushed through his hair and over his jawline. A moment later and she was already on her horse, holding the reins carefully in her hands as she adjusted her sword by her side, looking down to him as a tear coursed down her cheeks.

"I love you, Boromir."

He smiled to hide the aching of his heart, but knew Amera could see it in his eyes. "And I you. Now ride fast, Amera, and know that the hope of men travels with you."

She smiled then and it stole his breath away, but her cowl was suddenly lifted and her cloak swirled around her as the horse galloped over the plains, as swift as any he had ever seen as it carried the Aeliniel and the woman he loved further and further away. He climbed the stairs of Helm's Deep and stood beneath the great statue that adorned its courtyard, watching as Amera slowly disappeared from his sight.


	19. The Dagorwen

She smelled the smoke before she saw it, blinking as its crisp, acidic essence assaulted her senses with an intensity that startled her as she galloped across the plains. It stung her eyes and swarmed around her in thick waves like a cloak, but a minute later she found its source as her horse rounded the top of a hill overlooking a small valley, the great forest of Fangorn a hazy green in the distance. There, at the bottom of the crest lay the smoldering ruins of a farm and a small mill, their timber broken and ashen as they cracked and fell.

Amera knew it was foolish to approach such, but nonetheless found herself dismounting and sprinting down the hill with all speed her wear legs could give her after a day and night of swift travel. She lost her footing against a loose stone and found herself rolling down the hill with a speed that alarmed her, wincing repeatedly as her ribs and bones slammed against the rocky ground. However, as soon as she had stopped, she sprung into a crouch and drew her sword with inhuman speed, chastising herself for making such an obvious mistake in such a dangerous situation. Still, she sighed with relief as she rose shakily to her feet, for the farm remained silent beside the crackling of dying embers. She coughed once, blinking as the thick smoke billowed from the ruins of the thatch hut and stung her eyes, lifted her cowl up to allow herself some filtered air as she carefully scanned the scene before her.

She trembled as her gaze fell upon the butchered carcass of a old horse, large strips of meat cut away from its weathered body as the flies and birds of carrion pecked away what was left. Her lip curled as realized that the Uruk-Hai would surely not have taken the time, nor known properly, how to cut away meat from a horse. That meant that the Dunlendings, the wild men of the hills had done this, though where they were now, she could not guess. Her boots crunched over the charred wood and straw as she slowly approached the tiny hut that had no doubt served as a home, its thatch roof half burned away as the remaining timbers that shakily supported it. She gripped her sword tightly, her knees slightly bent in preparation should something unfriendly greet her as she stepped into the doorway.

Amera staggered backwards, nearly vomiting as the thick, iron scent of blood swept over her like a wave. Her vision tilted and she clumsily grasped the beams of the doorframe as she gagged, gasping for fresh air as her legs threaten to collapse beneath her. A few moments later, she steeled herself and bit down roughly on her lip as she entered the hut. It was difficult to see, at first, and she waved her hand to clear away the dry smoke, her narrowed gaze scanning over the simple contents of the hut. Two straw beds were covered with neatly embroidered quilts, sewn with the images of horses and mountains familiar to the Rohirrim. A small fireplace was in the corner and a battered pot lay on the earthen floor beside it, its contents scattered. It was then that Amera froze, her hands trembling by her sides as she spied the pool of blood that had not yet sunk into the dry ground, thickly shimmering as she followed its trail.

There, in the corner, lay the fallen bodies of the farmer and his wife, perfectly still as the dark stains soaked their rough, homespun clothes. She began to shake fiercely, her mind void of all emotion as she spied another, smaller form behind them, curled up against the timber walls of the hut. It was the corpse of a small boy, his wide blue eyes unstaring as he slumped, his tiny hand seeming almost to reach for his mothers. A dry, choked sob escaped her mouth as her vision tilted once more and she found herself falling back onto the bed, unable to tear her gaze away from the scene before. The man had been fair and tall, handsome once, though now his face was bloodied and bruised. His wife lay beside him, curls as dark as her own following over a face that had been pretty, though worn with stress.

She realized that they had died trying to protect their son, no doubt begging for his life, for some mercy before the Dunlendings had cut them down. And it had been in vain.

Amera doubled over and began to vomit emptily, her shoulders shaking as her body trembled with a ferocity she had never known. All the while, her mind whispered that in another life, by one slight twist of fate, she could be lying there, broken and battered before the body of her child in a simple, loved home that had been ravaged. Her dark hair could be mingled with dirt and blood, her pale eyes unseeing. It could have, so very easily, been her.

There came a soft, gentle noise from behind her and she reflexively turned, drawing her sword as she prepared to defend herself. However, her eyes widened and the blade fell from her hand, shattering the silence as it clattered against the earthen floor. Amera rushed forward, falling to her knees as she caught the young girl, her tiny body collapsing into her arms as she cradled her. Her flaxen, golden hair was tousled and dirtied as it fell over Amera's arms, the girl whimpering as her blue eyes widening, glazed with pain as they stared into Amera's face.

She was so very young, Amera stared, unable to form words as she looked over the child that lay dying in her arms, her gaze falling to the crimson stain that she knew was beyond healing. The girl gave a little shudder and Amera feel her delicate, fragile bones shift as she whispered, "Momma, where…where is Corin?"

Amera realized then, that in her pain and shock, the beautiful, broken child in her arms had mistaken her for her mother. Her jaw dropped and she stammered at first, her hands shaking as she cradled the girl as gently as she could. She pressed her head carefully to her chest, burying her lips as she whispered, her voice trembling, "He's sleeping, love. Shhhh," She did her best to smile through the hot sting of tears, wanting more than anything to comfort the girl, "Quiet now, lest you wake him."

There was a brief pause and the girl paused, her voice steady with a calm Amera could not understand, "It hurts, Momma." Amera wished more than anything to know the girl's name in that moment, to whisper it in her hair as the child's labored breathing grew slower and slower, her vibrant eyes growing dull. "I..I know, love." Amera kissed her forehead, holding back the sobs that threatened to rise up in her chest and pour out. "Be still now, and know," Amera swallowed hard, closing her eyes as cradled the trembling girl even closer, "And know that I will let nothing hurt you."

The girl drew in one last, shaky breath and allowed a gentle smile to cross the freckled face now stained with blood and dirt. Her shimmering eyes grew glassy, her fragile form growing still in her Amera's arms as she looked down with wide eyes, choked breaths escaping her mouth as the girl slipped away into death.

Amera pulled the girl close, pressing her lips into her dirtied hair over and over again as she rocked back and forth, sobbing emptily as she cradled the child that should not have known such suffering close. It was then, as she wept beneath the ashen timbers, her heart breaking with an agony she could never have imagined she might be able to endure, that she understood the true cost of war.

Ooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It had been a carefree night, almost an enjoyable one as Ragni and the others had roasted the horse meat from the farm, gathering around the fire as they listened to the crackling meat and warmed themselves against the harsh night air as it swept across the endless plains. They had looked over the stolen trinkets they had collected off the corpses, scowling at the battered, crude pieces of jewelry as they glittered in the firelight. Still, if nothing else, they had had a bit of fun earlier, the first chance for their weapons to taste the blood of the damned horse-folk in far too long.

The five Dunlendings had gathered their filthy leathers and hides around their bodies as they prepared to rest for the night, tossing their weapons aside, for there was no fear. They were utterly alone in the plains and had seen none but the farmer and his family in a week. Ragni was confused, to say the least, as he was awakened by a mottled scream, his hand desperately searched for his axe in the dirt beside his head as he searched for the source of the cry. His eyes widened as he watched a great shadow appear, tall and utterly void of features, save for two burning eyes that flashed as swiftly as its blade. The peaceful night air was punctured by the screams of his companions as the shadow moved with inhuman speed towards them, torrents of blood darkening the stars above. He was utterly stricken with terror, paralyzed as he watched his companions fall one by one, the shining, slaughtering blade striking again and again mercilessly. The heavy scent of iron assaulted his senses and for a moment Ragni swayed, his vision faltered as it swirled the colors of fire and the night.

There was a great silence then and his eyes widened as the creature turned to him, its terrible eyes seeming to tear into his soul as it strode towards him and he imagined the shadows of the plains clung to it, shrouding the evil that lay beneath. He knew of the legends, all of his kin had since childhood, of the great demons that stalked the plains of the horselords, but had thought such were but warnings to the younglings who dreamt of ventured beyond their villages.

Yet there was no doubt in his trembling heart as his eyes focusing on the thick droplets of crimson that slowly fell from the strange blade, that there was truth in the warnings of his elders and that he gazed now upon _dovodiad_, a demon of the plains. It snarled at him in disgust, a feral sound that chilled him to the bone, and he found himself weeping helplessly, burying his face in his hands as he fell before the creature, unable to form even the simple 'no' in his utter tettor.

He gasped then, as the demon spoke with the voice of a young woman and looked up into the face of one of the most beautiful maidens he had ever seen, though her beauty was terrible as she gazed down upon him with burning eyes. He recoiled in horror as it suddenly occurred to him that the demon had no doubt stolen the form of some poor, young girl that had been lost upon the plains, twisting her gentle features into the monstrosity that towered above him. Great waves of power rolled from its form and he flinched as it spat, its voice cutting as it snarled, "Look at me."

Ragni trembled, a sob escaping his throat. He cried out as he was dealt a savage kick and the voice roared, "Look at me!"

Blinking away tears, he looked up slowly and cringed, waiting for the stained blade to move towards him with the brutality that had been shown to his companions, their mangled forms lying but a few feet from him. There was another pause and then voice spoke once more, growling each word as if it was a cold and calculated poison. "You will return to your master, to Saruman, and you will deliver a message. Is that clear.?"

Ragni's jaw dropped in confusion and he wondered what interest a demon had in the affairs of the White Wizard, but his thoughts were interrupted as the demon roared, striking him savagely in the face, "_Is that clear_?"

He nodded repeatedly and swiftly, attempting to smile through his rotted teeth so that the shadow would understand. It was silent for a moment longer, then the voice began to speak slowly, each word precise. "You will go to Saruman and you will tell him that the Aeliniel is dead." Ragni nodded hurriedly and it continued, "You will tell him that the Dagorwen has risen in her place and that," The voice snarled, contempt rolling from its words, "She does not show mercy. She will see him dead by her blade and no other."

Ragni waited for more and upon hearing nothing, rose shakily to his feet as he prepared to deliver the message as swiftly as possible. However, the arm of the creature shot out and pushed him back down roughly, its eyes glittering with unbridled fury as the soft lips narrowed, "Hold out your hands."

He watched as the great blade was lowered towards him and he began to weep, but held them out nonetheless as he waited for his inevitable death. He closed his eyes, great sobs wracking his filthy body, and howled in both surprise and confusion as the sword was drawn roughly across his outstretched palms, slicing deeply into them with no effort. His eyes flew open and he stared the demon, clutching his bleeding hands close as he trembled and wept.

The voice was eerily calm now, though colder than ever before as it emotionlessly stated. "Your hands will forever be stained with the blood of the innocent you needlessly slaughtered. Go now," The shadows around the creature swirled as it turned its back to him, the beautiful, terrible face hidden as it spat, "And deliver my message to Saruman."

A moment later and it had disappeared into the shadows of the plains, leaving Ragni to weep in absolute terror.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Amera watched as the Dunlending gathered supplies from the bodies of his fallen companions, his motions frantic as prepared to leave the camp behind with all haste. In her hand, she tightly clutched a necklace she had spotted amidst the blood and dirt, feeling the smooth edges of the bone imprint the tender flesh of her palm. It had been a simple thing, a crude design etched into bone and connected to threat, no doubt meant as a necklace for a child. As Ragni began to flee across the dark plains towards Orthanc, Amera silently and carefully slipped the necklace over her necklace, feeling the unfamiliar chill of bone against her breastbone as she turned and began to gallop once more towards Fangorn.

As she grew ever closer to the swaying forms of great trees in the distance, Amera blankly realized that she should feel some sort of remorse, some pity for the men she had struck down with such utter pitilessness. Once she would have wept for the spilled blood and agonized cries that had torn through the night air, unable to erase the great fear in their eyes as her blade had flashed towards them. She would had pitied them, even in their crimes, for none desired to die before their time.

Instead, she realized as the necklace bounced against her slender chest, she felt nothing at all.


	20. What the War was For

Merry curled his hands into fists by his side, biting his lip roughly to hold back the frustration that threatened to spill forth with each passing moment. He was restless and he knew his frantic, aimless pacing had garnered him strange looks from Pippin, but nonetheless found himself unable to remain still as the entmoot continued to deliberate. Their strange, echoing calls drifted through the clearing, swirling around trees and over root and under branch as whispers spread throughout the dark forest. He did not know how long it had been since Treebeard had last turned to speak to the two hobbits who so anxiously awaited a translation, since the swirling roots of his great limbs had shifted and twisted as he so slowly walked towards them.

He glanced to Pippin, sighing quietly as he saw his friend resting comfortably beneath a tree, curled up as the night air stirred his shining curls. Merry envied his cousin's ease of mind, for his small body even now yearned for the rest he had tried to achieve earlier as he had attempted to sleep beneath the lazy branches of an ancient willow, but as his eyes had closed he found his mind crowded with images of fire, of flame.

Merrry sighed once more as he continued to paced, angrily running a hand through his own messied hair as he absently turned his gaze towards the night sky. The stars glittered above him with an intensity that rivaled the summer nights along the Brandywine, when he had nestled into a grassy hillside, perfectly content to listen to the gentle sounds of the river and crickets as he drew from his pipe. It seemed so very long ago to him now, he swallowed hard as he felt the prick of tears in his eyes, the memories of his beloved Shire. When he had woken to the gentle sun as it streamed through his window. When he had slept beneath a cool breeze and a quilt woven by his aunt. When his greatest worry had been a rumbling stomach between meals. When his greatest joy had been the bright sun and green hills.

When the world had been soft and gentle and peaceful.

He blinked as his thoughts were interrupted by a strange sound, swiftly turning towards the entmoot in confusion. The towering ancients tilted their heads to each other, their long vowels and twisted whispers changing in tone, growing swifter as their deep eyes glittered hazel in the starlight. "What is it, Merry?" Pippin sleepily grumbled from behind him, but Merry made no response as he narrowed his eyes and watched the ents deliberate amongst themselves, hoping to discover the source of the sudden change.

Merry took a step back hurriedly as Treebeard turned towards him with a swiftness he had not even thought the forest guardian to be capable of. Pippin was beside him, yawning as he tilted his head and repeated once more, "What's happening, Treebeard, have you come to some sort of agreement, then?"

Merry cut a silencing glance to his friend as Treebeard slowly leaned over, his amber, rippling eyes staring into his own as he the ent stated slowly, "You must be quiet, little one, for we have sensed something," He paused and let out one of his strange, low growls, "_approaching_."

"But what is it, Treebeard?" Pippin exclaimed, "Is it more of your folk? It surely cannot be Saruman."

"No," The ent sighed, tremors of a grumble in his voice, "Something _older_."

Merry swallowed hard and felt a tight knot of fear settle into his stomach as Pippin gasped from beside him. He stepped close to his friend, his hand reflexively slipping to the handle of his blade as Treebeard slowly turned his back to them. He realized that Treebeard intended to shelter them from whatever would appear at the end of the darkened glade, whatever should slip from the shadows of the ancient glades into the pale moonlight. The ents themselves were silent as they watched and waited, grouped in a semi-circle as they were so very still that Merry wondered briefly if they had fallen back asleep once more.

There came a rustling from the woods, a crackling of braches as the wind sighed through the forest. Merry swallowed hard, but his courage was bolstered as he felt Pippin's arm brush against his own and he breathed deeply, willing himself to be brave for his best friend. What seemed like a thousand heartbeats later, a figure appeared at the end of the clearing, gracefully stepped into the moonlight as it seemed to ripple over its dark cloak like water. It was still for a moment, almost frozen beneath the eyes of the sylvan giants, but it slowly strode forward.

"You are the guardians of Fangorn, of root and branch and leaf. You gathered to determine whether you will fight to protect yourselves and that which you cherish from the machines of Saruman's war, from his roaring fires and blackened steel." The voice stated with a quiet, proud determination as it cut through the silent forest. Merry's eyes widened as he recognized the voice, his heart leaping with joy as he waited for her to finish, "Even now, that which is good and that which is old is being destroyed, that which should be preserved is lost with each passing hour as the strength of both Orthanc and Barad-Dur grow. You speak for earth and I," The hood was lowered and Merry grinned as Amera's pale eyes flickered in the moonlight, her jaw set as she stated,

"I speak for water."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Pippin shifted to allow Amera room as she slumped beside him, offering a low sigh as she leaned her head back against the tree behind her. She had been speaking to the ents for hours now as he and Merry had watched from beneath the great willow. She had slipped into the flowing tongue of the elves, which he supposed must be easier for the ents to understand because, after all, Treebeard had told them that it was the elves that had initially "woken" them so very long ago. Initially, Amera had been very calm as she had addressed the ancient creatures, her voice soft and delicate compared to the rumbling growls and calls of the ents. However, as the meeting had gone on, her voice has reached that fiery pitch it did when she was most passionate and her gloved hands had gestured towards Isengard repeatedly. He had watched her toss her head in frustration, her face scrunching ever so slightly as it always did when she had to bite back her words.

Pippin had not yet been able to speak to her, though she had granted him a quick wink and a few, faint smiles when attention had been turned away from her, but he could see something had changed about her. Amera looked very tired to him, as she had seemed in the dark caverns of Moria, but this was somehow different. In Moria, Amera had looked _withered_, for lack of a better word, like a bold flower that had suddenly been cast from the sun, straining to embrace that which gave it bot_h_ beauty and power as it grew weak and pale. Her face now was ashen and drawn, dark circles beneath her eyes that had lost their strange flame as his gaze focused on what appeared to be a few drops of blood along her brow and down her cheek. Clearly she had run into some sort of trouble as she came from wherever exactly she had come from and perhaps that explained some of the change, but Pippin was still worried.

"Are you alright, Amera?" He quietly offered as he looked at her from the corner of his eye.

She did not move, her eyes closed as she sighed. "I slept for a thousand years yet I fear even such time once more would not free me from this exhaustion."

"How exactly did you find us, Amera?" Merry asked softly, turning from his pacing. "And how are the others? What's been happening outside of the forest?"

Pippin silently watched her as she recounted what had happened in the week since their parting, her voice soft as she described the journey across the plains and the flight of the Rohirrim to Helm's Deep as the threat of Isengard loomed ever greater. She spoke of the stone fortress and of her dreams, of the voice that guided her. He knew, as she spoke, that she was purposefully keeping the true direness of the situation out, no doubt as a way to protect him and Merry. He chewed the inside of his lip to hide a smile at the realization, then waited for a moment after she was finished, and softly replied, "And what did you tell the ents, Amera? Will they listen?"

She sighed and ran her fingers through her gnarled hair, frustration creeping into her voice, "I…I cannot say, Pippin. Despite all that I told them, despite the fact that even as they waste time Isengard grows, despite-," She growled, cutting herself off as she drew a deep breath before continuing, "I cannot say which way they swayed. All we can do is wait."

Merry cursed under his breath and turned swiftly to pace across the glade, his fury easily visible as his fingers tightened into fists. Pippin watched him leave, then turned to Amera and tilted his head slightly as he watched her slender fingers travel to her throat and slipped beneath her dirty hauberk. Her eyes were still closed and her chest rose and fell gently, but a moment later he caught sight of a small image attached to a length of cord, paler than even Amera as she rang her fingers slowly over it. He was silent as he caught a glimmering tear slide down her cheek, glistening in the moonlight and as the wind gently swept through the clearing and mingled with the voices of the ents, he whispered.

"What happened, Amera?"

Silence.

"You can be honest with me, Amera." Pippin bit his lip as he slowly reached out his hand, watching her flinch very briefly as he rested upon her knee. Still, she did not move and he gently murmured, "We're friends and friends can tell each other these sorts of things."

She swallowed hard, sighing quietly as she thought over it for a moment, then stated simply, "I did something I fear I should not have."

"….And you feel guilty for it? Is that it, Amera?"

She was silent for a long moment, then whispered. "No. I…I feel nothing at all."

Pippin was quiet, but gently brushed his fingers over her knee, unsure of how to console her for whatever had caused the great curtain of sorrow to fall over her. He blinked as she suddenly opened her eyes, her voice barely audible above the rumbles of the entmoot. There was that deep glimmer of pain in her eyes, the same he had seen after Amon Hen on that terrible journey across the plains, as she looked to him. There was a brutal honesty to her voice, a nakedness that caused his heart to ache for her with each word. "How am I to give hope to men when I have so little of my own, Pippin?"

He did not say anything for a few long heartbeat, but gently and somewhat awkwardly rested his arm around her, pulling her close as she leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder. He had never been this close to her, had never felt the weight of her slender body, but it felt right to him. When she did not move, he ventured further and kissed the top of her dark curls as he breathed her in, the scent of earth and rain gentle. He did not know what to say to her, had no idea what wisdom he might pass to the Aeliniel, the Dagorwen and finally Amera as she curled up childlike against him. But silence, silence was somehow welcome, somehow fit the pieces perfectly.

They sat that way for a long time, still beneath the pale moonlight as the forest swayed and whispered around them. Finally, Amera breathed softly, her words as gentle as they were honest. "What is it that keeps you here, Pippin, in the midst of this bloodshed and chaos? What do you fight for?"

He blinked, surprised by the question as he gave a little shrug, careful not to disturb her as he softly replied. "I dunno', I suppose I fight for a lot of things, to be honest. Though, I wouldn't call it fighting exactly, Amera. I think we can both agree that that's not exactly what I'm best at."

She laughed gently at this, shaking her head slightly and he grinned before looking up to the night sky and glittering stars as he searched for the right words. "I guess I fight for my friends, for Frodo and Sam and everyone back home. If suppose I fight, then they never have to. I fight for the Shire and," He shrugged again, "I fight for you."

Amera tilted her head, shifting to cast him a curious glance as she perked a brow. Blushing slightly, he offered, "I want you to smile the way you used you used to, like when we first met at Rivendell. You looked so happy, Amera, so…so," He stammered, lowering his gaze slightly, "You don't smile like that, anymore."

Her flickering eyes widened slightly and she opened her mouth to speak, her bottom lip trembling so very slightly. A moment later, she rested her head on his shoulder, curling her delicate body against his as the night air swirled around them. "I don't know what I'd do with you, Pippin."

Pippin smiled at this, closing his eyes as he wrapped an arm over her. Silence, silence was right for now, he decided as they rested beside each other beneath the flickering stars.


	21. IMPORTANT NOTICE

For those of you who still read this, I WILL BE UPDATING LATER THIS WEEK! Yes, after much time and though, Dagorwen is to be continued!


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